Who is the Bad Guy?

Maybe I trust my gut too much.

My sometimes flabby, food-loving gut says there is more to the story than "I like him, he doesn't like me as more than friends." My gut says this guy has faults (just as I do, like being a sore loser sometimes, as I found out today) but that he deserves every ounce of love I give him. My mind, so capable of leading me astray, and my heart, so capable of leading me into desperate territory, have their doubts. But my gut? My gut knows this is complicated. My gut makes me feel terrible when I am spiteful, mad for no reason, wishing I could inflict pain into him for not making his mind up.

Today I was mean. We were playing aqua hoops and I just got in a bad mood. I can be a very, very sore loser. And I was losing hardcore. He tickled me, and I elbowed him as hard as I could. "Geeze, okay I'll back off." Sometimes, especially on my period, I have this anger that comes from the part of me I ignore generally. I am not a lover of being mad or mean. He didn't talk to me, and knew I was mad. About 30 minutes later, after everyone else got mad at the game and couldn't agree on whose score it was, I tried to make it better. I told him how angry I was, for seemingly no reason. It was one of those things I didn't need to waste my emotions on. He said he could tell, and he's been really angry lately too (at this, I totally scoffed - oh no, you have two girls that obviously like you and would do anything for you, wah wah I feel so terribly empathetic for you. NOT) My mood didn't really improve all that much, even though I was trying. But I was being civil and pleasant.

We walked out of the gym, and he told me to hug him. "I love you."

I didn't say it back.

Maybe my terrible, awful brain is making me do things to test him. My heart is big, and it says I should never let go of someone who loves me even when I'm mean. I got really upset the other night, thinking he is just playing me, that I'm a fool in the court. That would be too easy, wouldn't it? A bad guy makes the story make sense. A bad guy makes me the logical victim of the tragedy. A bad guy is easy to blame.

He's not the bad guy. I'm not the bad girl. He is a guy who tries to help everyone, be everyone's mentor; he's easy going and tries so hard to do the right thing (even if it ends up so, so wrong.) He's the type of guy who will continue to see the good things about someone, even if they've hurt him. He's confused, but even in his confusion he will love me unconditionally.

I'm the type of girl who texts him later, "I'm sorry I didn't say it, I love you too."

Is This How They Do it in Venezuela??

First off, I guess I should address my absence from writing for the past couple months. I've been busy, with it being water polo season. I've also been living in this quasi-reality of a friendship(relationship?) that's had my brain absolutely shut down. I have literally been that confused. And I don't like to write down my thoughts until they've been thoroughly collected and analyzed. I was also ashamed for some reason... ashamed of what, I don't really know. But I felt like my life wasn't worth talking about.

Ironically, Remedio's name (it's a fake one) is the exact name we discussed I could never name my child. He absolutely hates that name. It's the male version of a name in one of my favorite novels (100 Years of Solitude). He can suck it. I still like the name.

A synopsis of the saga will follow:

December: We texted each other every single day. This guy literally knows everything about me (besides what I choose to do with no clothes on, he doesn't get to know that.) He knows about my crazy side of the family - Dad's - and I know how his parents met. I can't explain how absolutely nervous I was when I saw him for the first time in...
January: What a confusing ass month. The first day back to school we were supposed to meet up and buy our books together, but I had a class from 2-3:30 after he was done with his last class. So... he came and got a terrifying please-drop-this-class lecture from my geology professor with me. No one has ever come to class with me before. Normal? Then we bought our books together and ate lunch and played Trivial pursuit on my phone... aka his obsession for the next month. He's actually quite terrible at it. He made breakfast for me, we went and volunteered together, we got lunch all the time (and subsequently harassed by a homeless guy who thought we were together), and it felt like things were going in a more serious direction.

Stupid little things. The way he squeezes my shoulders when I'm sitting down and he walks by. That he never forgets to answer my texts. That he remembers small things, like that I don't eat beef. That he laughs off the way I trip all the time and make fun of myself. That he lets me rant about Latin American politics or Roe v. Wade or whatever I want for an unlimited amount of time. That when we text really late at night, he always says I love you. That when I'm mad he always says he loves me, even though he knows it makes me crazy. Stupid little things.


February road bump: I don't really know what happened. Well, he started acting like a douche. He'd bail on me when I had only made plans the day before with him, then call me a couple hours later to see if I wanted to hang out. He'd say he was busy on the day we always had lunch. We had our first fight - that he didn't ever take his phone downtown with him ("What if something happened to you? What if you got in a fight? What if the entire bar suddenly exploded? We wouldn't know what had happened to you!"). I was fed up with being treated as an in-between. Did he care about me or did he not? It all culminated into a furious phone call at 3 in the morning after he had dropped me off, after I found out he had gone on a date with a girl he "really liked." Didn't he really like me? To spend so much time together and talking? I suddenly felt very unhinged. The person whom I leaned on most was leaning on someone else... I can't really remember exactly what I yelled at him about, but it was something to the extent of him abandoning me for this what's-her-face girl that didn't care about him. A couple days later, we talked for a long time (mainly me chastising him for all of the crimes he'd committed in the last few weeks) and he told me he loved me only as a friend. That he had been backing away and not hanging out with me because he was afraid of my feelings but that he "hadn't given me any mixed signals." I was kind, but pissed.
March: I didn't talk to him for a week. He texted me "hey" and it made me want to talk to him even less. On my last day with my swimmers (I got "let go" from my job by the way, yippee) he came down on the pool deck and kept hugging me in front of my kids (awkward) and scared the living daylights out of them by him... just being him. Later that week I met up with him and more of our friends. It wasn't weird and the next morning I knew he was the person to call (partially because he's a nice guy, partially because I'm sure he felt very guilty about how he'd been behaving) when I was literally contemplating going to the hospital because I had drank too much/been dehydrated. Boom. Saltines, Gatorade, and anti-nausea meds. He always does whatever I ask him.

Now we're up to date with each other, blog.

There was of course some nice hefty drama Saturday night (would it be Saturday night, otherwise?). I, being my naive little self, thought when I walked through the door to a welcoming crowd of 8 hammered boys, "I can handle this." My dreams of a fun night with a coed group of friends downtown were probably shattered when one of these three things occurred: hearing: "YOU'RE LOOKING SEXY TONIGHT!" when I walked through the door, seeing my friend throw a full beer bottle up two stories and smash into someone's door, or when I was offered Mederma as an appropriate method for balming the lips.

We waited for the bus for a long time, where I watched Remedio kiss our guy friend on the forehead repeatedly, discussed how I was going to get pinched in the ass by everyone downtown (which, incidentally, it only ended up being him... ha), and was bear hugged more times than I can accurately recall. Confusing was that he told me he loved me - "I loooove you best friend! I hope you love me too!" - and after I made some (undoubtedly witty and hilarious) joke "I like you." What does it all mean, you say. Hell if I know.


Next came the grope-me-a-thon once we got downtown. As one would suspect, we quickly lost the majority of the members of our group (some never to return.) I was left with Tommy and Remedio. Tommy was texting his girlfriend, one of my teammates, the whole time, and was walking really slowly. Remedio had his hands on my waist the whole walk towards 6th street, at one point literally grabbing my waist and resting his head on my ass. I do not know if this was a compliment. I simply reminded him of it the next day and said I wish I had photo proof of him kissing my ass. He also repeatedly pinched my ass and acted like we hadn't discussed that I had green on my earrings an hour before. Once we got to 6th street, he thought it would be a clever idea to grab the belt on my dress and I would become some sort of leader of a pack of drunken sled dogs. "Haha this looks dirty" - yes, thank you for pointing that out.

Eventually I lost them to the gods of alcohol and a girlfriend with a car and was left with the beer thrower asking me to make out with him ("Well you have before..." - not a sufficient argument, especially since one of those times I was not conscious.) Two a.m. rolled around and we had no way home. So we walked. And I yelled at everyone via text whom I considered responsible for my walking twenty blocks in bare feet at 3 in the morning. Anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

But wait! There's more. Coincidentally, the next day, pictures from his birthday from three months ago were put up on Facebook. Thankfully the ones of me getting iced and chugging with three boys or of me dancing on top of a table didn't make it up there. But this one, super, mega awkward one of us dancing did. Thankfully I look hot. But also quite trashy. Like, drinking a beer, grinding on him, while he is doing some sort of thing that requires his face on my neck. Don't remember taking that photo.

Monday rolls around and he asks me to dinner. (Uh, I have practice ya know.) I make him wait til 9 to go with me and we have a really good time just talking about how we were as kids, if he's going back to Venezuela ever (apparently he has political asylum here right now, so no), and I ranted about how they want to take away a woman's right to use birth control how she chooses don'tjudgeme and he listened. And then he paid for dinner, which has never, ever happened before.

Wrench in the whole operation: there's another girl. They met in Physics, she has curly brown hair and blue eyes (like another breathtakingly gorgeous supermodel I happen to know), and he seems to want to be with her, or rather did when he wasn't being handsy. He told me he planned to ask her to be his girlfriend this week.

Thankfully, I like her. If she were a complete bitch or way ugly I'd probably be pissed. Sadly, the rest of our friends don't like her for various reasons ("She doesn't act excited to be with him" "She tried to get with me" "If they met in Physics they'll have nothing in common besides that" yadda yadda yadda) but I like her just fine. But now I feel compromised. Not that I have loyalties to her as a friend, but that I'm a part of something dishonest. If I were her and knew, I'd feel so threatened and hate me right now. Doesn't he understand?

Normal friends don't act like us.

It Doesn't Mean I Have to Accept SHIT.

Things have been changing. It's like the wind; you can't see it, but you can feel it.

WOMP WOMP. Anyways, I've been undergoing a lot of mental/emotional changes lately. I believe it to be a culmination of a very good birthday, a lot of spare time, and a good friendship with a special guy.

I was feeling rather down in the dumps on my birthday. It wasn't a particularly bad day or anything. My grandfather's funeral coincided with my 18th birthday and last week was my 20th and I was a bit sad. However, my grandfather's prediction of, "I think you should go to UT, you'll be very happy there" within his last two weeks rang very true. I have fabulous friends. Who got together for my birthday and celebrated with me even though it was finals week. And humored me with playing lots of games because it's my favorite thing to do. I couldn't really ask for more...

Spare time. Finals are over. I usually come to a conclusion about many things after finals are over. I want something, or I don't. I can tell someone, or I will leave it be. It's worth it, or it's not. All these things are finalized and actually neatly organized in my head. My thoughts have begun to flow again in their usual artful fashion and are no longer abrupt and ugly like "study for this" "study for that" or "get this done." Maybe I'm the only crazy person that prefers their thoughts to be attractive. Definitely.

One of my friends treats me like a princess. I have yet to discern whether or not I'm special, loved as more than a friend, or simply that our brains are connected like umbilical cords to one another and that's why we understand each other. The last two weeks have been a bizarre set of events, small and large, that have confused me, but for once in a good way. The situation is win-win for me.

It began with my birthday. I have never had a guy care about my birthday. Granted, it was a couple of them. But Remedio showed up and was happy to be there. I must have painfully low expectations.

But the true weirdness began on his birthday, two days later. I wanted to see him before I left for vacation with my family, so I texted him that night to see what he was up to. He invited me to go downtown with some of his friends. The two other people were both girls, but they were really friendly to me and didn't act like my presence was going to ruin their night. Remedio normally doesn't drink and is a terrible lightweight. So we're drinking and he starts acting... friendly. Super friendly. DRUNK friendly. I'm just buzzed and thinking the whole situation is hilarious. We go dancing and he doesn't dance with anyone else. And when I do, he cockblocks like no one's business and gets in their way. So I'm thinking either really protective or into me. Or that drunk. Such ambiguities. We practically can't get him out the door when a fight breaks out because he's so upset that people are fighting. The car ride home was equally interesting, with his head on my lap bemoaning making out with one of my friends the night before and simultaneously drunk texting something really stupid to a girl he's interested in. I promised Remedio I wouldn't make out with him. HA. I know how to comfort confused men I guess.

"I love you!" - as I'm getting out of the car. What. In retrospect, this isn't as surprising as I drunkenly originally thought.


So my enebriated self texted him back after I got inside and told him I hoped he was okay and got home safely. Next morning he responds and we text until... 4pm. Then the party begins!

Literally, a party began. I went over to my friends, knowing mostly acquaintances would be there and expecting to just meet a lot of new friends. I'm sitting there, chatting up this guy I think is cute and making (cough) charming off-color jokes, and CLARENCE walks in. Now, this wasn't supposed to be a big deal. He and I had talked on the phone over Thanksgiving break, and I assumed we were on friendly, non-sexual terms. He came over and said hi and was totally normal, apart from being extraordinarily drunk. I just chilled with some of the guys and munched on chips. I was having a good night.

I had been bugging Remedio to come to the party because he knew the host and one of his teammates was there. And he already told me he was sitting at home watching TV, which is a terrible excuse unless it's SVU, Sex and the City, or River Monsters. In my opinion. Well, he finally showed up around 2am, and I was happy to see someone sober and familiar. However, Clarence comes up and begins the most awkward conversation I have ever had in my life. It went as follows:

C: You know, guys and girls can't ever just be friends. (looks at my friend and I)
Me, eyes rolling: Really, Clarence. I think that's not true. Remedio and I are friends, and we've never hooked up.
Remedio: (nods)
C: It's just not possible. One of you wants to fuck the other one. I know it.
Me, to my friend: Do you want to have sex with me? No, didn't think so. It's okay, I don't want to have sex with you either.
(this was my futile attempt to just end the conversation, in a very direct way.)
C: I don't believe you. He wants to have sex with you then.
Remedio and I: UH NO.
C: Well either way, it's not gonna work out for you guys.

Thanks, asshole.


There was some additional dialogue about Clarence's being upset for his utter lack of self control and him needing to shut up. At this point I'm pretty sure I was glaring with the fire of a thousand suns, but glares like that don't phase hammered people. Also on the verge of tears. Remedio caught the vibe, gathered up a few friends, and we went to go eat. Of course, being the ninny I am, I started crying and ranting about how much he upset me. Remedio hadn't known I hooked up with Clarence. Not exactly something I want known publicly now since this guy is like a crazed drunk rabid wombat. Surprisingly, Remedio just told me that Clarence is a weirdo, and to not listen to him. I was expecting him to ask more, or talk more. He dropped me off at my apartment and told me to have a good holiday.

I don't know why it felt so weird. Probably something about being publicly confronted about our friendship. EGH AWKWARD LET THAT NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN PLEASE LORD.

The next morning, Remedio texted me telling me to have a safe flight. That meant a lot. I'm used to people not caring. When I told this to one of my other friends, she said, "you've known idiots for a long time."

We had been discussing our siblings one day and I told him I hoped my brother would propose to his girlfriend soon, and he told me he hoped his sister's boyfriend would be proposing soon. Thursday night, my brother told me he had a secret (which probably won't be a secret by tomorrow!!!) and showed me the ring. I had to tell somebody, and I at least thought Remedio would care. NO. He wanted to know everything, things I didn't even know. He wanted me to tell my brother congratulations. My brother barely knows who he is. My analysis of this is that Remedio is an extreme romantic and got irrationally excited about someone else being in love.

But then we texted for about four hours about our shitty past relationships. And we think exactly the same. It's so bizarre. That conversation's length has kept me from saying anything the last couple days. He has really crappy English. But it's okay. I just need a break from it.

I realized that the point of this is not whether or not he's interested in me or just loves me very much as a friend. I know what I know. I know that I love him as a friend very much, but I just can't envision us hooking up. Which is odd. It's almost displaced in my brain because I feel like I have a lot better things to associate with him than how he looks. I think more about both of us crying while watching a movie together or us talking about our families, not about having sex with him.

Which is how it should be.

What I've realized is that I would never, ever hook up with him if we weren't together. That could be never, and I will never hook up with him. That could be in a year. It could be anytime. But I know it won't be as "friends with benefits." People talk about the mistake of having a "friend" who you are too attached to. Mistake made. Already happened. And the "benefits" of having him as my friend and only my friend are many more than would be hooking up.

Friends with benefits is ignoring a person's heart in order to heighten the importance of their physical appearance. I couldn't ever ignore him.

This is comforting to me. I don't have doubts about screwing my friendship up by hooking up. I don't fear being too jealous of other girls because we communicate really well. Communication breaks down when you start to hook up with someone. That won't ever happen. It's less of a decision and more of fact. I don't know how Remedio feels, and I guess I could ask, but I'm going to let everything fall into place without talking it to death. I don't know if I'll end up with him, 99% likely chance I won't because of... actually I have no idea. I just get the gut feeling we'll mean something to each other as friends for a very long time. All I really know is that I am thankful that a guy treats me well and isn't demanding sex from me. Those guys are out there, and it's lovely to know and experience, even if we won't end up together.

Isn't it nice to know that guys and girls can really be friends, Clarence? The type that can think ahead and make small sacrifices to sustain a healthy friendship? The type that value each other as more than sexual objects, a means to an end? So that's what you did to me, it doesn't mean I have to accept that from someone else, or do that to someone else.

Writer's Block

I haven't written for a long time because I've lost my sense of humor.

Most of the time, even if I'm miserable, I can make something funny out of it and somehow that makes the situation a little better. Right now though, I feel pretty fucked. There are about 10 million little things in my life, and big things I guess, that make me seriously unhappy. I can't get out of this one. I don't want to write because I don't want to bitch. I'm easily figured out in one simple equation:

Pride + emotional repression + pleasing other people + anxiety + competitive + self-doubt + knowing somewhere deep inside that I'm an intelligent human being = me.

I've never wanted to disappear more than I have the last month. I feel like all I do is make a fool of myself while being a normal stupid college kid, but getting twice as much crap from it than everyone else. And the crap that I get about it has made someone important to me dislike me, even. He won't talk to me. He doesn't want to be near me. Humor doesn't fix someone genuinely wishing you didn't exist.

Part of me wants to quit water polo so badly. SO SO SO badly. Whether in actuality or in my head, I will never be good enough. Try as I might, I can't keep up. My coach is constantly frustrated with me, and I start tearing up whenever I actually try to talk to him about anything and I just walk off. Pride. I'm already not very good compared to everyone else and it doesn't help that I cry about it.

No one on the team bothered me last year. Now I'm always irritated with people, with or without reason. Maybe it's because I bite my tongue about a lot of things - I don't feel like I have the authority to call people out on their hypocrisies or confront anyone when I have a problem. I'd rather keep the peace. Whether or not I wake up in the morning doesn't depend on a confrontation with a teammate, does it?

I was so upset that my study abroad program was changed from fall to spring. I have wanted nothing more than to survive the spring season, lay low in summer, and then disappear. I don't want people to talk about me. I don't want to be involved in plans because I feel like no one wants me there.

I know it's my own fault, but I hold up some of my relationships with people. There's about 3 people who actually text me first, wanting to do something. Or want to talk to me. Maybe I'm afraid I'll feel lonelier than I already feel if I don't "do the work" in some of my friendships. Hopefully I haven't written in so long that no one will see this, at least for a while. I don't want anyone to feel guilty, because I know how many different things each of us has going. I know that I have an unusual ability to juggle things and people and remain focused and (usually) not forget about anyone.

If only I could care less -

Priorities

Sometimes we forget what's really important, especially when our relationships demand most of our attention and become our single microcosm.

Last Thursday was the end of whatever it was with Clarence. Part of it just seems to have rushed by without making much sense, but I'm not going to question my intuition to move on. I've found that moving on is rarely the wrong decision.

There were a bunch of friends over at Leonardo's (my best guy friend who until today I have not named.) We drank, played a little poker, played some Smash, and most everyone went into Leonardo's room to smoke. Clarence and I stayed in the living room, looking at our writing on his computer and talking about relationships.

We carry opposite definitions of love.

"It's loving someone unconditionally, even if they don't love you the same way. It's doing whatever they need for them."

"I don't really think so. I think love is when two people are complete, see each other's completeness, and want to share their lives. I don't think people in love are doormats."

I'm sure I offended him, essentially calling him a doormat within his last serious relationship. But I'm the honest type, and I aim to have real relationships with people instead of shallow relationships that have zero confrontation. I don't believe we're supposed to agree on everything with our friends. But this, doesn't this nail the lid onto the coffin? How can two people ever love each other, even eventually, if their definitions of love are polar opposites?

I explained to him some of my poems, and he told me I'm brilliant.

He told me that our sleeping together was the greatest expression of love that exists.

In retrospect, this is insanely dramatic. Especially for the altogether lack of seriousness on my part, lack of commitment on his part, and how we don't even have each other's numbers. Why was all this brought up? Why must it be brought up every time we see each other? It has occurred to me that I'm beyond tired of having the same conversation with the same conclusion to agree to disagree.

So 4am rolls around, and I don't want to walk home. As always. He says it's okay for me to stay with him. However, this time, I made the mistake.
THE MISTAKE
THE MISTAKE
THE MISTAKE


Meaning: told him I feel comfortable with him.
GOD FORBID I say something nice to him. Right? No one likes that.
GOD FORBID I feel comfortable with someone I see practically every weekend and have slept with multiple times and shared a dozen conversations with.

"Uh, you know we can't date. Right?"

Cue same conversation we have every time I sleep over there. It's a little more than blatantly obvious at this point that I don't want a relationship. Sometimes, he annoys me. Sometimes, I just like being alone. Sometimes, I'm happy we were absolutely nothing but something at the same time for approximately a month and a half and didn't feel pressure to text each other all the time.

I was happy the way it was. He felt guilty. I understand why he felt guilty, but he didn't understand me. I'm sure he still thinks I'm wanting to tie him down or ring hungry or something. But quite simply, I got frustrated in the middle of our second argument about the non-us of the night because he didn't even try. I was sick of being misunderstood. I was sick of him making everything into a blatant rebellion against God. I was sick of the drama.

Straw that broke the camel's back? That we weren't allowed to spend "one-on-one" time together anymore. That we couldn't call ourselves friends. That he put a pillow between us and refused to kiss me goodnight.

Rarely, do I ever leave a warm bed. Rarely, do I run when I'm supposed to.

I put my clothes on and he turned over, asking, "Wait, what's up...?" like he didn't know. How self-centered do you have to be to not know when an honest person is angry?

I walked out his door, walked out the apartment door, and cried the whole walk home at 5am. I know part of me was crying out of relief. Crying because I was so damn proud of myself. Crying because I wished so badly that he would go after me, acting like he even gave a fuck. Who doesn't get sad when they're proven right?

Ironically, I think one of the greatest human desires is to be proven wrong, to find exceptions, to find the one contrary to the stereotype.

Too bad I'm great at finding stereotypes.

The next night, I had a crazy stupid amount of fun with my friends. I realized that what's important foremost in my young life is simple happiness. It would be lovely if a relationship, or non-relationship, brought me that joy. But sometimes it doesn't.

I'd rather be simply happy than complexly "okay."

Recently Learned Life Lessons/Feminist Rant

I had an interesting (aka boring as hell) weekend of physical suffering and serious contemplation. Here are some of my findings... maybe they're not new to you, but they're new to me, or I forgot about them.

If you want to make any person happy, make them good cookies.

If you want to make boys happy, make them anything remotely edible.
That said, I think people should experiment with cooking more. Even if it turns out crappy, it was a good effort and you will get to know your personal tastes better.

Turning a bad situation into humor makes the situation seem much more solvable. Laugh at the other person (not in front of them, obviously), imagine the scene with squirrels reenacting it, something.

Men are attention whores. Regardless of how hard you're trying to do the "right thing," you will inevitably be wrong in the eyes of jealous guy and he will not be able to hide his displeasure from you. A la, Thursday night. Went over to the guys' place to hang out with my guy friend. I (mistakenly or not) feel that I don't spend enough time with just him - that there's always someone else there, whether it be Clarence or other friends. I don't mean to monopolize his time by any means, but there's a reason we're close and I want to stay close. I could tell Clarence was a tiny bit jealous, but I'm not going to ditch my friend for him every time! I know guys aren't as conscious of this as women are, but I don't want to be randomly confronted one day being told I'm a terrible friend. But the point: men pout. Though it shouldn't be, it's hilarious.

It's entirely possible to sleep in the same bed with someone of the opposite sex. Thursday night and Friday night, I ended up sleeping with "just friends" and no harm was done. Purpose: to sleep. Mission: accomplished. It's all about attitude... if you're thinking about the person you wish you were sharing a bed with, you shouldn't do a single thing with the person who's actually snoring next to you.

You must know yourself to share your life with someone else. For once, I'm on the other side of the glass here. I know what I want. He doesn't. I feel distant from him, but thankfully we're not already in a relationship and grasping at bits of pieces we DO feel comfortable sharing. We're both being a little selfish. I've been too hurt to put myself out there and be brave, and he just doesn't know what he wants yet. In the sage advice of one of his roommates, "What you should do with him? Nothing."

Nothing is right. When in doubt, stay put. Don't say anything. You can't say anything stupid if you don't say anything.

Sidenote:

Part of the whole "no sex to be religiously pure and close to God" thing that drove me so nuts was unconsciously I didn't agree with him. Consciously, I know I want to have sex with him. The duh. But on a deeper level, I remembered something we had discussed in my art history class.

Artemesia Gentileschi was a female artist who worked in her father's workshop in the late 1600s/early 1700s. She was very talented and one of the first women of her period to really be recognized as a painter on her own. She was raped as a teenager by a fellow artist while left alone in the workshop. Her rapist was tried and convicted, and paid fines and went to prison for... dishonoring her father and decreasing the marriage value of his child. It was only important that she was raped because her marriage value decreased significantly. Was it important that the man hurt her? Was it important that that event changed her life dramatically and influenced her artwork? Not to anyone but Artemesia.

What was the purpose of her purity? Her purity was simply a signifier of her monetary value at the time of her wedding. I'm often accused of reading the Bible with a perspective of way too much historical context (since the Bible somehow gets to be omitted from the same intellectual scrutiny as every other piece of art, poetry, and literature from the time). But... weren't Hebrew marriages initially conducted in the same manner? That daughters were sold, or went to their husbands with "dowries"? Is everyone seriously acting like the middle ages and onward were unique in their economic approach to marriage?

To me, "purity" is of the mind, and only the mind. And maybe water, purified without germs. But a woman's body is pure from the beginning until the end, regardless of her lovers, if all were met with earnest and good intent. A woman can be impure if she takes advantage of men and hurts men. In my perspective, some of the fathers in the Old Testament were no better than pimps to their female children. Who sells off pre-pubescent girls to have sex with old(er) men today? Pimps in Thailand. There, that's my real world application of the Bible, fitting for today.

I'm not accusing Clarence of being a woman-hating, misogynistic asshole. I was just racking my brain for the longest time, wondering why this idea of purity creeped me out so much. I know that I am pure. Anyone that knows me, knows that I don't enter a single relationship with anyone on the basis of "just thinking he's hot" or "just wanting to see what I can get out of him in bed." That's not me. And for some reason, his saying he wanted to be pure was almost an accusation of me. I know that is WAY too much of an assumption to get mad and confront him. But I was wondering how his desire for purity felt so, completely, wrong. It seems like he is putting a value on himself... which was so defined in the Bible by misogynistic assholes who wished to suppress women.

I guess being a man, he can be okay with that.

Un-pretty, Too

I was thinking of writing this post whilst eating a bunch of vanilla pudding with chocolate chips in it... how fitting. To be clear, this isn't a pity party, nor is it a blog tooting my own horn. I am simply fascinated/bothered by how my self-image can change daily while I look essentially the same every day.

My mother once asked me, "Do you not want to be pretty?"

I have the problem of picking out one issue about myself, and stressing about it and giving it so much attention that it perpetuates the problem. I have bad skin, and it makes me feel so ugly. I wish more than anything in the world that I could wake up in the morning and not feel like I need makeup. I know that stressing over it and over-trying to get rid of it only makes it worse. I think that the stressing over it makes me even more un-pretty. My hair looks great because I pay zero attention to it. Ironic.

My mom knows that the problem is completely within. Part of the reason I appear so calm the majority of the time is that I deal with any stress self-destructively. I have had so many situations that I absolutely cannot fix and have no power to fix, and the obvious (stupid) solution is to try and "fix" something that isn't that wrong. How's that for unattractive?

I've been on the other facet of my mother's question as well, though. Nothing is worse than thinking someone likes you, and then realizing he only thinks your hot, and isn't listening to you.

I have friends who aren't attractive but are extremely smart and end up in happy relationships. All of my super-gorgeous friends may have boyfriends, but they aren't the most talkative or deep relationships. Then there's us, the "attractive, intelligent ones". That's how I feel most of my friends fit. Few of my best girlfriends have boyfriends. We're stuck in the middle, being real people. We're not models, but we're smart. But we're not anti-social savants who can reject everything worldly, either.

Every time I'm told I'm beautiful, I want to be ugly and disappear and be left alone. Every time I look in the mirror, I wish I was more beautiful.

Am I scared that my personality will be lost if I become that girl who is perfectly fit and doesn't have to wear a bit of makeup to look photo-ready? Am I just angry that I don't deal with my problems in a constructive way? Or do I blame it on "media and society" for giving me unrealistic expectations - that I should be everything, that I need to possess it all to be loved? Am I worried that my husband won't love me anymore if I look good now - and that later in life that he'll talk about me, "well she has a really great personality!"?

I wonder if I'm the only ridiculous person in the world who wants to turn a switch on and off with my moods. When I feel ugly, I don't want anyone to look at me. I don't want to see the guy I like. When I look good, I want to be around other people, but then instantly regret it when I think to myself, "but I'm not pretty without makeup." How is it so easy for other people? Why can't I just be the perfect woman?

Just another one of the many reasons I don't know if I am ready for a relationship. Who wants to be with a perfectionist? NO ONE. WE ARE PAINS IN THE ASS.

I know my perspective is very myopic at this point, but this is one of the things that most confuses me. That I am so confident about my personality, yet want to hide in a hole because I feel ugly.

It is completely true though, that no one can make you feel beautiful but yourself. 

Step 1: stop acting like everything is okay when it's not, even if my friends have heard a thousand times that my roommate makes me feel terrible and I cry all the time because of her.
Step 2: express myself positively, go running, go swim, something productive versus destructive.
Step 3: stop looking at myself.
Step 4: personality and looks should always compliment each other, not overbear on each other or overwhelm one way or the other.
Step 5: buy a burka if this doesn't work.

... We shall see. I might start keeping track of how I feel a little more diligently. And don't give me crap "but you're so pretty!" comments because it's bull to me. No offense. The goal is that one day it won't be, but right now I should only listen to myself.