Your relationship that is.
Things were bright, things were sunny, things were good. Suddenly, one day you wake up and realize that you feel as if you and your partner are speaking in two different languages. He’s opening that gaping hole and all that’s coming out is gibberish and you think you sound like an articulate lady expressing yourself when all you sound like is a squawking bird to him.
Do your thoughts seem to drift towards everything your partner is not doing? Do the things, that in the beginning, you shrugged off seem like a monumental inner rage fest? Do you feel resentment and indifference creeping in?
Yup. That’s Vitamin Love Language deficiency. I first read the book The Five Love Languages when I was a freshman in High School. My stepmother was on a “psychology of the family” kick and she gave me the book. I didn’t really dive head first into it, considering the religious undertones it presented, but the general idea stayed with me through the years. I bought and studied my own copy when I decided to write about relationships.
What are love languages? How do they pertain to you and your partner? Can they really bring vitality and strength to your relationship? Absolutely, otherwise I would not be telling you about them.
The concept of love languages is this: We all have unique ways that we express our love and ways that we desire to receive love. Sometimes, the former is not like the latter. You can express your love in a completely different way than you want to receive it. And the kicker is, your partner could be neither one of those. And that can be really fucking annoying if you don’t really know how big of a deal that can be.
Think of being in China and not knowing a lick of Chinese. In the beginning everything is new and exciting and you’re taking in all the sights, next thing you know, you’re trying to find a bathroom but no one is understanding the words you’re saying. So, you shit yourself. Shouldn’t of had that mystery meat on a stick from the cute little Asian man’s cart, huh? You’re frustrated, overwhelmed and really just want to hop on a fucking plane and go home. That can happen in your relationship. And if you’re the type that usually doesn’t express frustration and communicate your needs, it will happen a whole hell of a lot sooner than it would if you would at least have a verbal idea of what you need when it comes to love.
So what to do? Well that’s where the work and “commitment” part come in. There are five love languages. Get to know them. Practice them. Spend time coming up with ideas of your own on how to use them. If you don’t know about them already, they will be amazing little tools you can whip out to coax your relationship off the edge of a cliff and will help you discover things about yourself that you probably didn’t know.
Quality Time: A person who is a dominant quality time speaker loves being in the moment with you. It doesn’t necessarily mean sitting Indian style on the floor having a heart to heart and collecting your tears in a mason jar, but it means something much more than just sitting on the couch watching T.V. This person needs to feel your physical presence, needs to have your attention and needs to be communing with you. Whether that’s having a conversation about live sea rocks while you listen to Bobby Darin, cooking a meal together while you act all playful and giddy or playing a game of sorry while you share a 6 pack of your favorite beer, it’s just you two. A lot of people think just because you are in the same room together, it counts as quality time. They also like to believe that going out with a group of friends and socializing is quality time. Nope. General Rule of thumb, if there are other people or things (Like the T.V.) diverting your attention from one another, it’s not quality time.
Words of Affirmation: A person who enjoys words of affirmation, has a need to hear or see communication from you. Whether it’s hearing “I love the way your nose wrinkles when you’re getting ready to say something” or sending them a text message in the middle of the day saying you are thinking about them and love them or leaving them a little love note in the bathroom as you leave for work, this person craves sweet nothings. It may do absolutely nothing for you to get that text message or have them point out a quality about you they find adorable, but it touches them so deeply. Grab a dry erase marker and put your chicken scratch all over the mirror. Try writing them a little poem. Seriously. Even if it’s just about how much you want to sex them up later, do it. They will remember it forever.
Acts of Service: Making dinner. Doing the chores they hate the most. Taking the car in to get the oil change. Filling up the gas tank. Throwing out the trash before they have to ask you. All acts of service. A person who has a dominant acts of service, feels most loved when you do things for them. Even if it’s picking up the dry-cleaning on your way home from work, it makes them melt. Try and think about the little things that your partner complains about doing, the things that make them sigh heavily and try to beat them to it. Get up early and bring them breakfast in bed. Just do it.
Physical Touch: Most men that read this language will say, “I’m totally a physical touch type of person. Just this one. This is all I need. More sex.” This is not about sex. This about running your hand across the small of their back or holding their hand when you’re watching a movie. This is about back rubs, head rubs and foot rubs without having to be asked. This about grabbing your girl unexpectedly and locking lips with her. This about gently smacking your partners ass as you walk past each other in the kitchen. This language is all about letting someone physically know they are loved, without penetration.
Gifts: Presents! If your person has a dominant gift love language, the rule to remember is give them things that they would like. You love football but she enjoys bluegrass music. Giving her tickets to an upcoming football game is not going to score you any points. You can give them all the gifts in the world, but if they do not speak to your partner, it’s like putting relish on a hot dog. Eh, thanks but I’m not hungry anymore. If she loves flowers, get her fucking flowers. Hell, stop off at the side of the road and pick some for her if you don’t want to spend $50 bucks on a special order of pink peonies. I can guarantee you she’ll appreciate the gesture and little bugs more than if you said, “I thought about buying you flowers.” Pick up his favorite flavor of ice cream and new movie he’s been wanting to see. Plan a weekend getaway, even if it’s camping and surprise your partner with a poorly drawn voucher for a night under the stars. Think about the things that your partner loves and give gifts in relation to those things.
Most people have 1-3 dominant love languages but everyone has a percentage of all 5. Hone all 5. Though your partner may be a Words of Affirmation and Quality Time type of person, being able to express the others will bring much more to your relationship than you ever could have imagined. I’ve heard people say, “I’m not a big communicator, I don’t do that kind of stuff. Or, “I’ve never been a touchy-feely kind of person.” Or my favorite, “I don’t think that text message is anything that I need to respond to, so I’m not going to do it.” Well you know what? I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re selfish. If you keep on taking in a relationship and flying your flag of independence an inability to learn ways to love your partner, it’s going to be really hard to build anything with them. You have to change in order to grow, and you have to give of yourself in order to receive love. Refusing to talk your partners language because you’re too lazy and don’t feel like doing something that doesn’t come naturally to you, is going to cause a lot of harm in your relationship.
How about some motivation. The more you talk your partners language and make them feel loved, the more you’re going to get it. Ladies, that probably means your man jumping in to help wish the dishes and men, more sex. Everybody wins.
So save the baby seals and tell everyone you know about the 5 love languages. You know, because what doesn’t say love like a little furry baby seal.
And since I love you all so much and just want to see you be happy and having lots of sex, here’s a link to take the test.
I remember in detail every moment in my life a male has expressed his distaste about one of my attributes. Whether it be how I choose to wear my hair, my sexuality, my use of profanity or the way I like my pizza, it has stayed with me. I remember how it felt being on the receiving end, with every instance I grew a thicker skin and rebelled against their insecurities. However, I didn’t realize the rage I had until I witnessed it being done to women I care deeply for. This is for all the women who, for whatever reason, can’t speak out. For all the women who know they are not their bra size or their ability to flip pancakes. For the ones that have yet to saturate themselves in their worth.
As women we are expected to don the kitten heels, black panties and shake our little asses while we seductively saunter to the end of the bed. We’re expected to contort our bodies into hundreds of different positions because our man thinks it’s sexy. We’re supposed to twirl around poles and buy the whores r’ us compact makeup kits and paint our faces up. We’re judged by how much hair we leave on our vagina’s and how often we pluck our eyebrows. Men want us to suck their dicks like a five year-old would eat their favorite ice cream cone…several times a week. While we get sack sessions completely void of romance and passion.
Men want us to look a certain way and not act so “crazy” while they get applauded for sporting a beer belly and emotional manipulating us. But yet, they are just expected to show up and we’ll take what we can get. Do you see men spending money each month on yoga or stripper pole classes to keep their asses tight and moves raunchy for their ladies? Do you see them violently removing hair all over their body because their lady expressed that they like it that way? Do you see them scouring the annual sale bins at Victoria’s Secret to fish out 9 pairs of those translucent thongs that their significant other thinks is sexy, even though you feel sexiest in a pair of lace cheekies? Do you see them flipping through the pages of Cosmo trying to soak in the latest 100 ways to drive their partner crazy in bed?
Do they think that because they are fucking us that they have a say in any part of our body?
Men, do you know what you are actually saying to your women every time you choose to tell her you prefer x over what she encompasses?
“You are not enough. You are not sexy enough.” Is that really how you want to portray your feelings about the person you love?
We are ranked based upon what we can physically offer to a man. How tight is our vagina? How big are our tits? How well can we cook? How closely do we fit the picture perfect description men have extracted from their favorite porn star or ex-girlfriend they refuse to get over? I think it’s bullshit. Oh, so you like that her genitals be completely shaven and repeat that wish on a weekly basis as you’re showering together? If she wanted to wax, she would. Maybe she feels there’s something better she can do with that money. Maybe it’s too painful. Maybe it triggers the sexual abuse she experienced as a child. You wish that she would wear short skirts and not the things that make her feel confident and comfortable? Choosing to express what you wish was different in your partner and not telling her how much you adore the way she is now does anything but foster intimacy and trust in a relationship. Hopefully, sooner than later she’ll realize the only person’s approval she needs is her own if she’s continuing to stick around while you stake claim to her. If you can’t love a woman and respect for her for staying true to even the littlest things about herself, the things that don’t belong to you, then you don’t deserve her.
If I haven’t said enough, here’s one more thing: FUCK YOU. I alone decide what I do with the skin wrapped around my bones.
If I ever have a daughter, I will teach her this mentality: When it comes to her mind, soul and BODY, she does what SHE wants. She will not have parents that tell her “You’re so pretty” and that’s it. She will not have a father who says, “I don’t like women with short hair” when she says she wants to cut off her girlish curls for a stylish bob. She will have parents that will praise her talents and gifts and put the deepest parts of her personality high above the frilly pink dress she wears or red sneakers on her feet. And when she falls in love she will know, because she had parents that instilled in her worthiness, that the character of a man who dictates, even subtly, how she should act, speak, dress, fuck or cry, is a man with a character incapable of truly loving her.
Your worth is not dependent on what you can give to a man, but what you give to yourself. And if you find yourself with a man who would rather point out what you are lacking rather than be grateful, thankful and desire you for what you are in this moment and does not hesitate to make sure you know it…you are better off giving 100% of your attention to the person that should be loving you the most…yourself.
My muse wears a pink tutu, cusses profusely and REALLY likes to watch porn. But she’s the most intelligent, articulate and ethereal being I’ve ever met. She’s a rebel. She’s a heretic. And she’s magnificent.
Every so often she bursts onto the scene bringing a presence of euphoria, comfort-zone slashing thoughts and embodies the truth which permeates every pore on my body. And then there are times she comes to me while dreaming. That’s where I see her most often. She perches upon my shoulder in my lucid state and shows me things my conscious mind is unable to comprehend during the daylight hours. When my eyes flit open at dawn, she rests upon my soul, higher above and much deeper my physical form, with a comforting warmth and bright light.
She challenges my emotions, my beliefs in the significant and no-so significant. A battle of whits sometimes ensues between her and my bratastic ego. Those two broads can make a 6 deep feline-fight look like a party. When my ego wants to latch on to fear and build walls, she will tug at my heart and will ask of me, “are you missing something, Mercedes?”
There are days I fail to listen, there I days I choose the easy path, the lonely path, the seemingly safe path. But safe it is not. For that path strips me of compassion and replaces my being with torment and a hardened heart. My gaze is tainted with a colored lens that is jaded, cold and void of connection.
And then she whispers to me…
Here am I
To guide, to invoke
To ignite a flame, to enrapture
Stripping you of illusion and crutches
Breath and vitality fuse
You are goddess, soul alone will you shine
For I am you, until stars fade
Betray me not, my luminous voice
Grasp the existence which compels
Only then will verity reign
And when she brings me back to a place of oneness, I feel like putting on red lipstick. But then I don’t. I’d just get it all over my teeth and make it really awkward and embarrassing for everyone around me. I may be pretty, but I’m far from proper.
I looked at him with disbelief, possibly blacked out for like 10 seconds because of my inner rage and then I dramatically stormed out of the bedroom yelling “You have no fucking idea how this feels!”
Insensitive and oblivious male responds with, “Yes, I do.”
As I’m stomping down the stairs, I’m thinking, oh so you have ovaries, a uterus AND a vagina that starts gushing blood every month and you know precisely how it feels to be hormonally imbalanced, the sensation of your girl parts being in a meat grinder and having to shove pieces of cotton up your lady hole every 4-6 hours? Not to mention feeling like a beached whale, wanting to cry about every 4 minutes and so desperately wanting to just be held and left the fuck alone at the same time. I was also thinking about how I wanted to punch him in the face and/or light him on fire.
I have this lovely thing that happens about a week prior to B-day, PMS. Horrific PMS. Aside from the normal ways that cycles screw with your mind and body, I also have endometriosis. That bitch just amplifies everything. So, about a week before the crimson tide comes rushing in, I take a trip to crazy-ville. I’m not saying that to validate the way that men have labeled us, I’m just saying that most women can attest to the fact that we literally feel like we are going crazy because our emotions are all over the place. That doesn’t happen because we are irrational psychopaths. No, our bodies are actually experiencing a major fluctuation in hormone levels that we can’t control which make us seem like irrational psychopaths. Trust me, it would be so much easier to just have a set of balls to scratch when they get itchy.
My boyfriend said to me once, “All girls are crazy. Us guys just have to decide how much crazy is worth putting up with.” I disagree. I think men are so oblivious to the female species that the only logical response to us is that we’re “crazy”. I’m sure if they did some research and googled ‘PMS’ they would see that though periods are “not uncommon”, they are also the thing that makes being a woman really overwhelming sometimes.
But don’t worry boys, we understand. It would be incapable for you to comprehend what happens with our bodies when you are just walking fart boxes that are fascinated with your own dicks. I mean, I could say, “You’ve had that thing your ENTIRE life, it’s not like it’s uncommon. Do you really need to play with it that much?”
Periods, nature’s relationship barometer. Bottom line, men will never understand. Unless you start spiking their drinks with estrogen, they will never feel the need to empathize and wrap their brains around menstrual cycles, so trying to get them to understand is a moot point. However, using it to gauge a relationship and the type of man you’re with is also nature’s gift to you.
Immature Male – This male can’t even touch a box of tampons. He won’t go to the store and buy them for you and refuses to have sex while you’re on your period because “it’s gross”. He will make faces and utter self-esteem blows when he sees blood stained sheets, panties or will literally freak out and get mad if you jokingly throw a wrapped tampon at him. He will not be smart enough to realize you are in a crucial time of your cycle and will call you crazy and/or a bitch. Instead of asking if there is anything he can get you/do for you while you are laying in bed with cramps, he asks if you will go make dinner. In time, this male will start to grow up but may always remain a prick.
Asshole Male – You wake up in the middle of the night to find that you’ve indeed started your period. Asshole male instead of stripping the sheets and putting on new ones while you stand there embarrassed and humiliated, makes you clean the sheets, with an ice cube and says, “You better not have ruined my sheets”.
Oblivious not-so-immature Male who tries – This type of man knows that when the hormones spike, ice cream gets eaten and emotions are high, he needs to tread lightly. He remembers to ask if you need anything, tries to not say stupid, insensitive things and holds you even when you tell him “don’t touch me”. He’s not void of being a little bit grossed out after a romp session ending in the sheets/towel looking like a small cow had been slaughtered, but he also doesn’t gag and then refuse to make eye contact with you for the next 2 days. Though he may say dumb shit from time to time and not understand why you’re so upset about something that seems so trivial, he makes an effort to comfort you.
Mother must have had the birds, bees and period talk early in life Male – This male is so un-grossed out by periods and tampons he says things like, “Is that a mouse?” as he pulls the string from between your legs, tosses it on the floor and proceeds to go down on you. He’s good at making you feel comfortable about being a lady, but also…he’s probably a vampire.
Gay, doucheweed Male – ” Ugh. Women are disgusting and vile creatures. Please, anything that bleeds for that long has something seriously wrong with it.” Oops, sorry I knocked your drink out of your hand, dick.
How men react to periods and how they try and navigate through their relationship when their ladies are oozing with raging hormones says a lot about the general nature of your relationship.
Advice: Ladies, COMMUNICATE with your man on what you need. As I’ve learned this week, “I’m not a mind reader. I’m also a dude, I need to be told that you need something from me.”
Dudes: We bleed. Deal with it. Our emotions are all over the place. Try to deal with it by not calling us crazy. If in doubt, shut your fucking mouth, hug us and do something nice. Maybe order/make dinner. If we are bath kind of girls, run us a hot bath and hand us a glass of wine and tell us to go relax. Kiss us on the forehead and ask if there’s anything you can do to make us feel better.
Ya know, treat her like a lady so she doesn’t act like a psychopath and pull a knife on you.
Marilyn Monroe was quoted saying something along the lines of she’s a crazy bitch, but she really doesn’t give a shit because if you don’t like her, then you can GTFO. Or something like that.
My name’s Mercedes and I suck at paraphrasing. There’s a bout 131, 752 other things that I also suck at, but the things I am good at…well, those just make me all googly eyes over who I look at when I’m in front of a mirror. Conceited? Eh, more like I’ve realized that if you can’t love yourself for who you are, nobody else will either. And little babies will die if they don’t get love, so obviously I would too. Cuz, I act like a baby, waaaaaaay more than I should.
So, why the Marilyn Monroe quote? Well, that blonde bombshell of crazy is the attitude I’ve adopted in life. The “Is what it is” mentality if you will. And for some strange reason, a lot of really small and below the surface things have happened recently that make me feel the necessary urge to introduce myself to you, in all my quirky and weird glory. Like having dreams about choreographing the world’s first “Women with strap-on’s and sequined bikinis” burlesque show…I swear, that was from the raspberry sorbet I ate before bed.
Ya’ll know the reason I started this blog. Weeeeeeeeelllllll…I probably painted a flowery and incomplete picture of why. If you’ve been following the blog you know the general rundown: My grandmother’s advice when I was like 8 + some silly internet dating experiment + me wanting to help people in relationships in hopes of inspiring others to be better, but honest fucking, people. Those are all truths.
However, it was way more than that. It was a way for me to get honest with myself and do the one thing in the world that frightens me more than anything…to get vulnerable. I know I’ve touched on vulnerability in a couple posts and shared some stories about growing up, but there’s more. I want to do shit in my lifetime. Cool shit. Shit that most people don’t understand and probably think is really “hippy”, un-realistic or something they would never want to do. That’s cool, it’s not their life. Those are my dreams, my desires and it just so happens that some of them involve making things that help other people. Even if there’s lot’s of curse words and inappropriate phrases. It’s my brand of crazy, my brand of awesome and exactly who I am. But, I really can’t do any of those things if I don’t “get vulnerable”.
My best friend has always said it’s “impossible to punish me”. I will take any dare, become an un-flinch-able fortress at the sign of any big crisis and push envelopes like it’s my job. I’m a gatherer of good times, a flee-er from needy and really emotional social situations (if I can help it) and just feel that being who you want to be, not what others want you to be, is the key to happiness.
I like that other people like to be around me because I am fun. I like that no-one has ever called me boring and I completely adore the fact that I was blessed with the ability to experience life and have the desire to share those experiences with others. And I’m humbled that somehow things have progressed in my life that I write about relationships, life and spend a lot of my free time giving people advice. That may be the biggest compliment I’ve ever received. Think about it. Someone who comes to you for advice is basically saying, “there’s something, maybe 17 things, that I really appreciate about you. That thing or things make me trust you enough to come to you with this issue I’m having. Or, “I like who you are so much that I’m going to be vulnerable and say I need help.”
Dude, seriously. Be the kind of person that others come to for advice. That’s just an testament and personal barometer of you aligning yourself with the life you want.
Did you know that I didn’t always use to be the person that others went to for advice? Actually I used to be a very unhappy, insecure and selfish bitch. Karma found me and had her way with me…and I will never regret the path that lead to this moment.
So here I am. Sitting on my couch, heating pad on my bleeding and very uncomfortable feeling uterus and I just wanna be real.
I’m 28. I have no kids and have the dirtiest mouth my father will never hear. I keep it PG-11 around him for HIS religious reasons.
I’ve made a shit ton of “mistakes” in life, got married and then divorced and also got drunk at the lake and ended up with my best friends lips tattooed on my ass.
I’ve adopted dogs and a cat from shelters, spent thousands of dollars on self-help books and tried cocaine…twice.
I’ve thrown some of the most insane parties, devoted 9 months of my life to studying and becoming catholic when I was 26/27 and threw up IN someone’s vagina.
I’m a Reiki Healer, an avid banana eater and have probably given more money to homeless people than I’ve contributed to my 401k.
I stayed with someone after they cheated on me, told a family member they were a shitty human being and I’m embarrassed to be related to them and lost two marbles in my ass.
I thrive off experimenting and connecting the dots to why something happened aka analyzing the fuck out of everything. It’s also the thing that causes me the most grief in life.
I’m incredibly self-conscious about my calves, am still horribly afraid of the dark and believe fiercely in the idea that there are no coincidences in life.
I’m in stupid, gag-reflex, get-a-room, love with my boyfriend even though he calls me brat several times a week and is currently in the other room playing World of Warcraft and talking shit to his buddies online. Yes, Steve. I had a rule about guys that played video games. Guess it’s a good thing you have a not-so-small personality…? No, I meant dick.
I believe in ghosts, aliens AND fairies. Because, I like to believe that I’m a fairy sent here to sprinkle the earth with love and glitter. Juuuuuuust kidding. Aliens probably don’t exist.
If you haven’t been able to tell, I have a mildly not sucky sense of humor and witty way of typing out my thoughts. Or, I may just be slightly full of myself and have realized that honesty gets me a hell of a lot farther than pretending to be something or someone I’m not.
Sometimes when I walk over a bridge I wonder what it would be like to jump off it and die. Not that I want to die, I just want to know how it would feel to do it.
Two members of my immediate family have bi-polar disorder, Being in the ocean gives me anxiety and I wish I would have waited until this precise moment in time to make a decision on what I wanted to go to college for…or if I even wanted to go to college at all.
I don’t like every person I meet, I really enjoy cartoon porn and it’s tough for me to cultivate relationships with people who make celebrity gossip a part of daily conversation.
I believe that trust is earned over time. It is not something that magically arrives in a beautifully gift wrapped box the first day you meet someone. It also is not something that can easily be given out once you have experienced a major break in it several times. But with time, I believe even the most wounded can learn to open up when they meet someone who is willing to recognize their past pain and not judge it, instead protect it by being a trustworthy person by their actions.
I’m happiest when I have a microphone near my face, a guitar in my arms, reading natal charts or I’m doing research for a blog post I want to write. Also alcohol. Alcohol and chorizo quesadillas makes me happy, too.
I care about the people around me being happy, confident and true to themselves more than I care about any political hot topic. I guess that comes from the belief that whatever you want the world to be, you have to be that for yourself first. And that last statement is why I have the burning desire to open myself up to the world.
Hello, Universe. It’s me, Mercedes.