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.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
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 -
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 -
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
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."
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."
Monday, October 17, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Consistency Avoids Me Like the Plague (Consistently)
Of course, a series of (un?)fortunate events led me back into his bed. And a few beers. And whipped cream vodka. (Vodka, vodka, vodka). Just when I thought I was the ridiculous one! And somehow this is more confusing than before. I wouldn't say that I am confused because I know exactly what I want. I think Clarence is more than a little confused. Blamin' the charm I got.
Confrontation #1: The Duck Sound
First of all, let me say that my Friday morning mood was not based solely upon The Duck Sound. There were The Noisy Ass Bitches A Floor Above who were doing a workout video or Zumba video at nine in the morning when most people are sleeping or doing something which does not by any means require the sound of stomping added to it. There was also Da Freakout, when I turned over to the couch next to mine and saw and brown-headed figure with a blanket covering it, assuming it was Beatrice, who had occupied that space before I passed out to the sounds of National Geographic (doesn't that make it seem less drunk-ass college student?). Nope, I definitely woke up, started to talk to Beatrice, and then was answered with a man voice, which scared what little living daylight I had out of me. "Blaghhahahhhh!" was probably about how I responded.
I was already sufficiently annoyed at myself for sleeping over at the boys' apartment anyways, since I was still somewhat furious with Clarence and not wanting to humiliate myself further - obviously a goal I should give up. The night before I had talked to my friend for a long time and he said he told Clarence to not go to the party I was at. All his work for nothing, since I ended up the apartment anyways. That combined with a hangover and Noisy Ass Bitches and Da Freakout, I was not in a state where anyone running into me would find it pleasant.
Plop plop plop plop plop plop plop
So annoying, what the fuck is that?
Of course, the last person I wanted to see, with his broken ankle, plopping across the wood floor sounding like a duck and pissing me off. Always making oatmeal. I acted like I was asleep. Must. Exit. As soon as possible. Cannot. Confront. Thankfully, a text from my beloved Kathy needing her aid in getting Eustice's car from the towing company (things are ten times better concerning that, by the way). No more excuse to lay like a slug, not being able to sleep anyways.
Shoes on. Where's my wallet? There it is. Whataburger cup. So. Thirsty. Sip sip sip.
As I stood there the beast came back out from the cave and hobbled over... sadly asking if I was leaving? What did it look like I was doing in my dress from the night before and mascara all over my eyes? Getting the fuck out! And saying he hoped I would have a good morning? Oh please.
Awkwardly, I kind of leaped out the door. Like a wuss. Then proceeded to wait for the elevator for about ten minutes, banging my head against the side of it out of impatience/frustration/hungoverness/annoyance.
Not the end of the story.
Confrontation #2: Drunken Conversation About Our Non-Existent Relationship
Since we tend to have back-to-back raging parties with water polo, I was drunk again Friday night. Good drunk. I-don't-need-a-man drunk. Of course, at approximately midnight the spell wore off and Cinderella was stuck in the same room as Prince Charming. I avoided him, stayed with my best friends, talked to some of the other guys, introduced people, ranted in Spanish at someone. He was... talking to my best friends when I was doing something else, playing pong, getting introduced to the people I was not introducing to anyone. Awkward!
I don't remember how we started talking. But of course we did. Leave it to us ridiculous two to sit on someone's bedroom floor and attempt to talk out our not-problems since we aren't together. Wrap your head around that one. He was telling me how I deserve so much better. And I was telling him that I'm happy with how things were at that exact moment, and that's what I deserve.
Were you trying to get rid of me in a sneaky way, or do you really think that?
Somehow, we ended up locked in and trying to talk through things more. And he was kissing me? What? The? Fuck?
Only the lethal combination of drunkenness and horniness would lead me to give my key to my best friends, explain to them how to get home, and leave with the cripple only vaguely remembering the way back to the boys' apartment from where I was. I am an extremely slow walker when in competition with someone a couple inches taller than me and in possession of crutches. In retrospect, we probably looked hilarious, with me speed-walking after a really drunk cripple who was freakishly fast on crutches. And then we sat in the dirt and talked. And he didn't listen.
Finally got back. I can't remember if I got mad at him for not listening to me first, and then we had sex - or if we had sex, and then I got mad at him for not listening to me after we started talking again. The turn-on-your-side "you're not listening to me!" then silent treatment always works. Hopefully he's accepted that I'm a little bit of a curve ball mixed with over-sincerity. He acts like he gets lied to a lot.
That, I don't do.
Random sidenote: the kid sleeps in the weirdest way, with one leg totally over mine, like I'm going to run away or something. Probably not gonna happen, as long as you make me breakfast and I get to re-imagine you hopping on one leg to the kitchen with nothing on to make it. Laughed like a little child at that one.
With the morning came either the most bullshitted conversation of all time or just simply the weirdest.
"We can't have sex anymore. I don't want to sleep with anyone else until she's my wife. That's how it's supposed to be. Please try to help me with this. I don't really want to do this, but I know it's the right thing."
Um hell no. And I don't agree that that's how it's supposed to be. And I won't help you. And I don't think you should do anything contrary to what you want to do, especially if it's not harming anyone else. My words were probably a little more eloquently expressed (with some pouty faces mixed in). We talked for a long time about my past relationship. And he found out my age. Gasp. And told me I act about 25. Which is true.
that I am so confident
and he's fascinated to hear my cynical side because I seem so innocent
I'm not innocent
but he feels like I am
but I'm not
that we didn't have sex that was meaningless
I told him I had sex because I liked him
and he talked about that girl who I thought he'd never bring up
but I didn't tell him that I already knew
and she got feelings because they hooked up
he feels guilty
I told him I am nowhere near in love with him
because it's way too early to tell
he said he loves pillow talk
what straight guy uses the term "pillow talk?"
- one with sisters.
blah blah blah why are you talking to me
if it seems like you want nothing to do with me 90% of the time
"Your chariot, m'lady."
He drove me home, and it got awkward when I was getting out. I went side kiss. He went real kiss. It was somewhere awkward and in between, where we belong. Consistently inconsistent.
It just really bothers me that he told me I deserve something better. What a douche move. Leaving me wondering if he really thinks so, or just wants me gone. I can be gone. For the amount of honest conversation we had, I could almost think he really believes what he's saying. I almost think he really believes he can not have sex with anyone until he's married. Newsflash: if you want to marry someone, or get engaged, you sure as hell want to fuck them.
But my heart knows better than to think he's looking out for me, I'm so cynical. Isn't that fascinating?
Confrontation #1: The Duck Sound
First of all, let me say that my Friday morning mood was not based solely upon The Duck Sound. There were The Noisy Ass Bitches A Floor Above who were doing a workout video or Zumba video at nine in the morning when most people are sleeping or doing something which does not by any means require the sound of stomping added to it. There was also Da Freakout, when I turned over to the couch next to mine and saw and brown-headed figure with a blanket covering it, assuming it was Beatrice, who had occupied that space before I passed out to the sounds of National Geographic (doesn't that make it seem less drunk-ass college student?). Nope, I definitely woke up, started to talk to Beatrice, and then was answered with a man voice, which scared what little living daylight I had out of me. "Blaghhahahhhh!" was probably about how I responded.
I was already sufficiently annoyed at myself for sleeping over at the boys' apartment anyways, since I was still somewhat furious with Clarence and not wanting to humiliate myself further - obviously a goal I should give up. The night before I had talked to my friend for a long time and he said he told Clarence to not go to the party I was at. All his work for nothing, since I ended up the apartment anyways. That combined with a hangover and Noisy Ass Bitches and Da Freakout, I was not in a state where anyone running into me would find it pleasant.
Plop plop plop plop plop plop plop
So annoying, what the fuck is that?
Of course, the last person I wanted to see, with his broken ankle, plopping across the wood floor sounding like a duck and pissing me off. Always making oatmeal. I acted like I was asleep. Must. Exit. As soon as possible. Cannot. Confront. Thankfully, a text from my beloved Kathy needing her aid in getting Eustice's car from the towing company (things are ten times better concerning that, by the way). No more excuse to lay like a slug, not being able to sleep anyways.
Shoes on. Where's my wallet? There it is. Whataburger cup. So. Thirsty. Sip sip sip.
As I stood there the beast came back out from the cave and hobbled over... sadly asking if I was leaving? What did it look like I was doing in my dress from the night before and mascara all over my eyes? Getting the fuck out! And saying he hoped I would have a good morning? Oh please.
Awkwardly, I kind of leaped out the door. Like a wuss. Then proceeded to wait for the elevator for about ten minutes, banging my head against the side of it out of impatience/frustration/hungoverness/annoyance.
Not the end of the story.
Confrontation #2: Drunken Conversation About Our Non-Existent Relationship
Since we tend to have back-to-back raging parties with water polo, I was drunk again Friday night. Good drunk. I-don't-need-a-man drunk. Of course, at approximately midnight the spell wore off and Cinderella was stuck in the same room as Prince Charming. I avoided him, stayed with my best friends, talked to some of the other guys, introduced people, ranted in Spanish at someone. He was... talking to my best friends when I was doing something else, playing pong, getting introduced to the people I was not introducing to anyone. Awkward!
I don't remember how we started talking. But of course we did. Leave it to us ridiculous two to sit on someone's bedroom floor and attempt to talk out our not-problems since we aren't together. Wrap your head around that one. He was telling me how I deserve so much better. And I was telling him that I'm happy with how things were at that exact moment, and that's what I deserve.
Were you trying to get rid of me in a sneaky way, or do you really think that?
Somehow, we ended up locked in and trying to talk through things more. And he was kissing me? What? The? Fuck?
Only the lethal combination of drunkenness and horniness would lead me to give my key to my best friends, explain to them how to get home, and leave with the cripple only vaguely remembering the way back to the boys' apartment from where I was. I am an extremely slow walker when in competition with someone a couple inches taller than me and in possession of crutches. In retrospect, we probably looked hilarious, with me speed-walking after a really drunk cripple who was freakishly fast on crutches. And then we sat in the dirt and talked. And he didn't listen.
Finally got back. I can't remember if I got mad at him for not listening to me first, and then we had sex - or if we had sex, and then I got mad at him for not listening to me after we started talking again. The turn-on-your-side "you're not listening to me!" then silent treatment always works. Hopefully he's accepted that I'm a little bit of a curve ball mixed with over-sincerity. He acts like he gets lied to a lot.
That, I don't do.
Random sidenote: the kid sleeps in the weirdest way, with one leg totally over mine, like I'm going to run away or something. Probably not gonna happen, as long as you make me breakfast and I get to re-imagine you hopping on one leg to the kitchen with nothing on to make it. Laughed like a little child at that one.
With the morning came either the most bullshitted conversation of all time or just simply the weirdest.
"We can't have sex anymore. I don't want to sleep with anyone else until she's my wife. That's how it's supposed to be. Please try to help me with this. I don't really want to do this, but I know it's the right thing."
Um hell no. And I don't agree that that's how it's supposed to be. And I won't help you. And I don't think you should do anything contrary to what you want to do, especially if it's not harming anyone else. My words were probably a little more eloquently expressed (with some pouty faces mixed in). We talked for a long time about my past relationship. And he found out my age. Gasp. And told me I act about 25. Which is true.
that I am so confident
and he's fascinated to hear my cynical side because I seem so innocent
I'm not innocent
but he feels like I am
but I'm not
that we didn't have sex that was meaningless
I told him I had sex because I liked him
and he talked about that girl who I thought he'd never bring up
but I didn't tell him that I already knew
and she got feelings because they hooked up
he feels guilty
I told him I am nowhere near in love with him
because it's way too early to tell
he said he loves pillow talk
what straight guy uses the term "pillow talk?"
- one with sisters.
blah blah blah why are you talking to me
if it seems like you want nothing to do with me 90% of the time
"Your chariot, m'lady."
He drove me home, and it got awkward when I was getting out. I went side kiss. He went real kiss. It was somewhere awkward and in between, where we belong. Consistently inconsistent.
It just really bothers me that he told me I deserve something better. What a douche move. Leaving me wondering if he really thinks so, or just wants me gone. I can be gone. For the amount of honest conversation we had, I could almost think he really believes what he's saying. I almost think he really believes he can not have sex with anyone until he's married. Newsflash: if you want to marry someone, or get engaged, you sure as hell want to fuck them.
But my heart knows better than to think he's looking out for me, I'm so cynical. Isn't that fascinating?
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
More About Prudence
Short, bitching story.
I got up at 7am to go to my geology lab. She got up at 7am to go pick up her boyfriend (since he has no car) and bring him back so she could make him breakfast.
UH. WHADDAFUCK.
I got up at 7am to go to my geology lab. She got up at 7am to go pick up her boyfriend (since he has no car) and bring him back so she could make him breakfast.
UH. WHADDAFUCK.
Nothing is Permanent
... cue emotional wormhole.
As much as I'd love to believe that there is a Truth, love is forever, and the people I trust will always be there for me, I'm way too cynical. Hopefully this doesn't mean I'll never find the emotional content I'm craving right now, but my future appears kind of dismal at the moment.
My 15 minute bus route after art history today left me pissed off (some girl was super rude to me - where are manners nowadays, byatch??) and contemplating what I truly know and don't know. I know nothing, it seems. I couldn't find the specific quote I was looking for, but I remember it being something like this:
"the truth is simply your perspective of how things occurred"
So applicable to my life... and such a great explanation for my constant state of befuddlement. But I feel there must be some kink in our evolution. Why were we given perspective if it only complicates things? Why are we aware of different perspectives than our own? Are we shooting ourselves in the foot by chronologically ordering our truths in order to make a decision? From my pea brain:
Once upon a time, I slept with a guy who didn't make me breakfast. He also didn't seem to care about what I said. Later in once-upon-a-time, I slept with a different guy who I knew cared about me and told me how great it was to want to sleep with me and want to talk to me afterwards (how gracefully put.) He also made sure I was fed in the morning. SO. Once-upon-a-last-week, I slept with Clarence and we talked and talked and he made me breakfast and kissed me goodbye like we'd been doing that same-old same-old for years. He must care about me!
Falso. So I find out now that he's had this "thing" (because we're in the 21st century and can no longer define our relationships with people apparently) with some girl from College Station. She's obsessed with him. And what guy is really going to turn down someone who's obsessed with him?
feeling ridiculous right about now
It's not that I expected anything absolutely breathtakingly romantic to come out of this. But one of my (many) fatal flaws is that I never sleep with someone who I couldn't see myself with. I'm erroneously programmed. Real people can emotionally detach before they sleep with someone, and I'm the idiot who can't do it unless I'm attached somehow. Trying to think about what I would say to him is exhausting.
"So... you asked me to sleep with you... yet you already have someone pining after you like a puppy... and you weren't drunk... and you told me you liked me... yet you still haven't communicated with me in two weeks... and I find out from your roommate's not-girlfriend-but-kind-of that some lady friend existed in your life before me and after me... and that's not supposed to bother me a teeeeensy bit?"
I promise I'm not lying when I have the patience of a saint and don't get mad easily, or stay mad for long. I'm not mad anymore, I'm just... humiliated. I feel so stupid because I knew nothing. I hate not knowing. But what do I do now? Confrontation? (nope, too chicken.) Acting like nothing is wrong? (nope, I'd do the thing I do where my eyes get really wide and it's obvious I'm as comfortable as when the doctor is sitting there with her hand up my---- .) Humor? ("ha ha! YA fooled me!" - nope.) So sadly my conclusion last night was altogether avoidance of the subject.
That one works for most normal people at least. But what about the truth of the matter?
I like the truth, when it's from my perspective.
Funny addendum:
Thinking about the last person that I truly liked, and hurt me - to the extent that I totally changed my behavior.
We were laying in bed, and he told me,
"You know at first, I thought you were really stupid."
Surprisingly, that one didn't last.
That just made me laugh really hard.
I see him every day at practice, and now I feel like I'm going to laugh at him -
You have to be REALLY dense to think I'm stupid.
As much as I'd love to believe that there is a Truth, love is forever, and the people I trust will always be there for me, I'm way too cynical. Hopefully this doesn't mean I'll never find the emotional content I'm craving right now, but my future appears kind of dismal at the moment.
My 15 minute bus route after art history today left me pissed off (some girl was super rude to me - where are manners nowadays, byatch??) and contemplating what I truly know and don't know. I know nothing, it seems. I couldn't find the specific quote I was looking for, but I remember it being something like this:
"the truth is simply your perspective of how things occurred"
So applicable to my life... and such a great explanation for my constant state of befuddlement. But I feel there must be some kink in our evolution. Why were we given perspective if it only complicates things? Why are we aware of different perspectives than our own? Are we shooting ourselves in the foot by chronologically ordering our truths in order to make a decision? From my pea brain:
Once upon a time, I slept with a guy who didn't make me breakfast. He also didn't seem to care about what I said. Later in once-upon-a-time, I slept with a different guy who I knew cared about me and told me how great it was to want to sleep with me and want to talk to me afterwards (how gracefully put.) He also made sure I was fed in the morning. SO. Once-upon-a-last-week, I slept with Clarence and we talked and talked and he made me breakfast and kissed me goodbye like we'd been doing that same-old same-old for years. He must care about me!
Falso. So I find out now that he's had this "thing" (because we're in the 21st century and can no longer define our relationships with people apparently) with some girl from College Station. She's obsessed with him. And what guy is really going to turn down someone who's obsessed with him?
feeling ridiculous right about now
It's not that I expected anything absolutely breathtakingly romantic to come out of this. But one of my (many) fatal flaws is that I never sleep with someone who I couldn't see myself with. I'm erroneously programmed. Real people can emotionally detach before they sleep with someone, and I'm the idiot who can't do it unless I'm attached somehow. Trying to think about what I would say to him is exhausting.
"So... you asked me to sleep with you... yet you already have someone pining after you like a puppy... and you weren't drunk... and you told me you liked me... yet you still haven't communicated with me in two weeks... and I find out from your roommate's not-girlfriend-but-kind-of that some lady friend existed in your life before me and after me... and that's not supposed to bother me a teeeeensy bit?"
I promise I'm not lying when I have the patience of a saint and don't get mad easily, or stay mad for long. I'm not mad anymore, I'm just... humiliated. I feel so stupid because I knew nothing. I hate not knowing. But what do I do now? Confrontation? (nope, too chicken.) Acting like nothing is wrong? (nope, I'd do the thing I do where my eyes get really wide and it's obvious I'm as comfortable as when the doctor is sitting there with her hand up my---- .) Humor? ("ha ha! YA fooled me!" - nope.) So sadly my conclusion last night was altogether avoidance of the subject.
That one works for most normal people at least. But what about the truth of the matter?
I like the truth, when it's from my perspective.
Funny addendum:
Thinking about the last person that I truly liked, and hurt me - to the extent that I totally changed my behavior.
We were laying in bed, and he told me,
"You know at first, I thought you were really stupid."
Surprisingly, that one didn't last.
That just made me laugh really hard.
I see him every day at practice, and now I feel like I'm going to laugh at him -
You have to be REALLY dense to think I'm stupid.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Truth About Sadness
Today I thought to myself, "I wonder if I'm bipolar."
Lately my emotions have been quite up and down, and my mind absolutely consumed with thoughts ranging from the importance we place upon things like money and social status to the good old "does he like me does he like me?" but I've had no relief. I wish so badly to have nothing to think about for one moment. I want an open sky and a clear mind, but I'm reminded constantly of my schedule and obligations and such.
I'm suffering from the things in my mind not necessarily matching up with reality. An imagination is good only if I'm able to live the experiences I imagine for real, right?
I talked to one of my best friends for a long time today. She told me she was having trouble coming to terms with who she is, versus who she was in the past and wishes she could be. Sometimes I think humans would be better off with only short term memories and we could float through life with a new beginning every day or week. No matter how independent I am, I will never be free from my past.
How does someone get over the past? I can't really remember when I stopped crying about my first love every day. I was in a constant state of sadness, and it was such a shame. The people who knew me most were so confused and worried. I would wake up and think, "this is the day I'm done with all of it! I feel so great!" but by the time I was lying in bed at night, I was crying and wishing to go back in time. That was the only experience I wished for, to have again and again the feeling that someone loved me. Because it's damn hard to live without it once you've had it.
Now, I almost never cry. If I do, it's usually about water polo or my grades. But it's because I feel empty.
It's really frustrating to know that my options are to trust, love, and open myself up to hurt while in a relationship or talking to someone like my best friend, who's been badly disappointed. Or to be alone. And no matter how much I love my friends, there is nothing sweeter than falling asleep next to someone's breathing and snoring, waking up with their arms around you, and being the first thing they see when they wake up. Why is nature so vicious? It feels terrible to want someone, but it's what we do until we die.
So which do I choose?
I feel I've been so many people in my life already; I've been madly in love, more depressed than I could ever have imagined myself being, and now I feel like the toughest, least trusting version of me. But how can I make myself trust men when all I've ever known is the feeling of being stupid, gullible, misguided?
The truth is that there is no trick.
I will always be a little off balance. I will always have doubts. I will always have those bad memories to propagate the doubts that arise. One day, I'll meet someone who will make me know how much I mean to him, will be proud to call me his, and will make sure I'm always the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
One day - the saddest thing to say
Lately my emotions have been quite up and down, and my mind absolutely consumed with thoughts ranging from the importance we place upon things like money and social status to the good old "does he like me does he like me?" but I've had no relief. I wish so badly to have nothing to think about for one moment. I want an open sky and a clear mind, but I'm reminded constantly of my schedule and obligations and such.
I'm suffering from the things in my mind not necessarily matching up with reality. An imagination is good only if I'm able to live the experiences I imagine for real, right?
I talked to one of my best friends for a long time today. She told me she was having trouble coming to terms with who she is, versus who she was in the past and wishes she could be. Sometimes I think humans would be better off with only short term memories and we could float through life with a new beginning every day or week. No matter how independent I am, I will never be free from my past.
How does someone get over the past? I can't really remember when I stopped crying about my first love every day. I was in a constant state of sadness, and it was such a shame. The people who knew me most were so confused and worried. I would wake up and think, "this is the day I'm done with all of it! I feel so great!" but by the time I was lying in bed at night, I was crying and wishing to go back in time. That was the only experience I wished for, to have again and again the feeling that someone loved me. Because it's damn hard to live without it once you've had it.
Now, I almost never cry. If I do, it's usually about water polo or my grades. But it's because I feel empty.
It's really frustrating to know that my options are to trust, love, and open myself up to hurt while in a relationship or talking to someone like my best friend, who's been badly disappointed. Or to be alone. And no matter how much I love my friends, there is nothing sweeter than falling asleep next to someone's breathing and snoring, waking up with their arms around you, and being the first thing they see when they wake up. Why is nature so vicious? It feels terrible to want someone, but it's what we do until we die.
So which do I choose?
I feel I've been so many people in my life already; I've been madly in love, more depressed than I could ever have imagined myself being, and now I feel like the toughest, least trusting version of me. But how can I make myself trust men when all I've ever known is the feeling of being stupid, gullible, misguided?
The truth is that there is no trick.
I will always be a little off balance. I will always have doubts. I will always have those bad memories to propagate the doubts that arise. One day, I'll meet someone who will make me know how much I mean to him, will be proud to call me his, and will make sure I'm always the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
One day - the saddest thing to say
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Sense and Sensibility
The beginning of the weekend starts with exclamation marks, and the end of the weekend is dotted with question marks.
Thursday night was amazing. It started with a vodka shot...
First let me say, this was not a random hookup. This guy I've known for a month or so, but probably met at least once last year. He's a roommate of one of my close platonic male friends. We've always gotten along, and I always thought he was too hot for me (ha ha... I have my moments.) We've never exchanged numbers or expressed any interest in each other besides talking a whole lot when I'm already there for a party. We're like fairweather friends who happen to have meaningful conversations whilst slightly tipsy.
We started to play poker the other night, teaching Beatrice and Petunia how to play and I of course getting increasingly more competitive with each round (and each drink, most likely). Competition is almost a fault of mine, where I desire to absolutely destroy everyone with whom I'm playing a game. Any game. I start talking shit like all the boys I hang out with, and probably sound upwards of ridiculous.
After everyone got tired of losing to my competitive ass, we all just hung around talking and listening to music. Then the inevitable Clarence-me intense conversation commenced and we were standing there staring in each other's eyes and covering topics most likely covered in a religion or philosophy class... prompting "Wtf" looks from everyone else I'm sure.
Such a sucker for good conversation.
Beatrice and Petunia left because they had things to do in the morning, but I was sufficiently inebriated and decided to stay and talk some more (literally, that went through my mind: I want to keep talking! not: I want to sleep with him, oddly.) We played video games (because that totally turns me on? UH??) and I think by some act of God I won one. There really had to be some divine intervention there because I'm totally uncoordinated.
"Do you want to just sleep with me?"
"Yeah, sure."
So it begun. Cuddle. Cuddle. So cute looking back on it I could gag. Neither of us had actually done it in a really long time. I mean... I felt it prudent to do so.
"I really like you... I like that you think about different things, and you're so confident... "
-"but?"
"No 'but'."
We talked about relationships, and he said he didn't want to be in one because he doesn't want all his time to be taken up with one person. Who the heck are these guys dating these days? The most clingy girls in the freaking hemisphere? I think I was tired/still tipsy enough to be sassy and say, "Well it's not like you get to take up all of my life, either!"
And I can say I was being honest.
He warned me that he was going to wake up and want to have sex again. My kind of guy. We woke up and cuddled some more, and he told me I could keep him warm. Why is this so damn cute? UGH. So there I was, laying on top of him, rubbing noses like some fucking scene from Bambi, and he started massaging my always tired and sore back muscles. I'm not sure if he knew that he was being perfect. P-e-r-f-e-c-t.
I felt like we were a married couple... who happened to be in their 20s or something. He made me oatmeal for breakfast, and kept telling me how different I am. (Can you tell I want to remember this forever?) We say there in his bed, me in my underwear, him in his clothes about to leave for class, and taking spoonfuls of my oatmeal every now and then. He told me to stay as long I wanted, and kissed me goodbye...
I want to remember this because it was so perfect. And because perfection is so fleeting, and so subjective to perspective...
Something made me not leave my number. I thought about it, very hard actually. I thought about leaving him a note by his bed, saying I want to see him again. What made me not do it?
For the first time in my life, I want to hide, and be found again.
However, this want is complicated. I know I can't go to my friend's apartment and not see Clarence. Not talk to Clarence. Maybe I should only go in day time. I don't want to jeopardize my platonic friendship though and never show up. But I don't want Clarence to think I'm down to be in a friends with benefits type of situation with him.
He's too amazing for that. And I'm too special.
This marks a point in adulthood for me. For once, I'm able to leave something at its original state for the sake of other people, and the sake of staying true to myself. I know that if I slept with him even one more time, I would get more attached. I would have feelings deeper than his (at least I think so, if he's a red-blooded American boy like every other one I've ever known). I know that I am worth the effort of a relationship, of chasing me down.
I'm precious, and I know it. I think he knows it. But I will never believe action always follows thought. He might not do a damn thing; he 99% likely won't do a damn thing. It doesn't mean I don't wish I could have that night over and over, because I do. But how many times have I tried to get what I want, and it is a total dramatic failure nuclear wasteland of a friendship afterwards?
Lightning has struck me too many times to go sit out in the rain.
Commitmentphobia
One of my dearest friends, Kathy, has been dating Eustice for about six months. From everyone's perspective in our friend group, the pair are well suited to each other and seem very happy. They go on ice cream dates all the time (too cute) and have spent a lot of time together, when you add it all up. She's quiet in groups, but is one of the funniest people I know when you get her to open up. She's tall and gorgeous and an amazing swimmer. He's also a really cool guy, someone who met her and knew like all her friends know, that she is a catch. All her friends could appreciate that.
However, the guy won't commit.
It boggles the female brain that a guy would spend so much time with a wonderful girl, but leave her hanging when it comes to a label. Sorry guys, we want a label after trusting you with our hearts and secrets and time for six months. It's really not too much to ask!
So when Kathy confronted Eustice about the status of their relationship, he became defensive and wouldn't give her a real answer. She was obviously upset, but he didn't offer comfort, rather distanced himself and gave irritatingly ambiguous answers to her and her nosy friends. What are we? became Are you going to love me forever and ever and marry me so we can be happily ever after? in his mind. Speaking from having many a conversation with Kathy, the latter question was nowhere close to what she meant.
How can she be blamed for wanting to know if he is going to up and disappear without notice? Why did he become so defensive at that question when he texts her constantly and wants to spend time with her practically every weekend? Why is this a surprise to him after six months?
Then came the blatant idiocy on his part (though normally he appears to be an intelligent person.) He texted another girl in our friend group. How poorly chosen. How poorly timed. How fishy.
The worst feeling in the world is telling someone you love, something that will hurt them.
This is a point of contingency between my mother and I. My mother always tells me I shouldn't be the bearer of bad news, that telling someone what you know will hurt them and causes you to become part of unnecessary drama. In fact, I feel guilty thinking about what my mother would say to Beatrice and I telling our best friend Kathy that her boyfriend is acting suspiciously.
"But you don't KNOW what Eustice was thinking when he texted your friend!" she would say.
I trust intuition above anything else. All the times where I have been most hurt and ended up crying on the floor, or on the bus, or in the car, or during a swim set, it was because I didn't trust my intuition, and trusted a man instead. Call me a man hater (I'm not, really) - but the feeling of betraying myself is that of the utmost stupidity... and I didn't want Kathy to feel that way.
How terrible would I feel if my friends knew for the longest time that my love interest was being sketchy and texting my friends behind my back? And they never told me??? I'd be petrified with humiliation. Thus, the decision was made and Beatrice and myself told Kathy about the wandering eye.
As I always do, I have come up with a theory about Eustice.
I think that he feels social pressure to be "single" (although he's kind of been seriously dating someone for six months, uh FAIL on the being single, Eustice.) Men in college are like sheep falling off a stupidity cliff. How else can keg stands be explained? Or streaking? Or drinking until they puke? Their caveman instincts are in full force until they graduate college and realize that those four or five or six years were meaningless without the people they loved the whole time. I know I'm being slightly unfair here, but you watch your best friend cry for an hour and then try to be fair towards the opposite gender.
I think he's waiting around for Carmen Electra to be reincarnated into someone college-age who would realistically date him. Which is unrealistic and shallow. Can she hold a conversation? NO.
I think he loves Kathy. But loving someone doesn't mean you're in love (as an ex boyfriend once said, oh so poetically) and it doesn't make you become wiser immediately. In fact, I think loving someone makes you act ten times more irrationally than you would act for a friend. That would explain Kathy putting up with six months of wishy-washy answers. And I will defend her to the end, it's sure as hell not her fault.
So what are we supposed to do about the male gender until they snap out of it?
Just put up with it?
Get our hearts broken habitually?
Become nuns?
Act as badly as they do?
However, the guy won't commit.
It boggles the female brain that a guy would spend so much time with a wonderful girl, but leave her hanging when it comes to a label. Sorry guys, we want a label after trusting you with our hearts and secrets and time for six months. It's really not too much to ask!
So when Kathy confronted Eustice about the status of their relationship, he became defensive and wouldn't give her a real answer. She was obviously upset, but he didn't offer comfort, rather distanced himself and gave irritatingly ambiguous answers to her and her nosy friends. What are we? became Are you going to love me forever and ever and marry me so we can be happily ever after? in his mind. Speaking from having many a conversation with Kathy, the latter question was nowhere close to what she meant.
How can she be blamed for wanting to know if he is going to up and disappear without notice? Why did he become so defensive at that question when he texts her constantly and wants to spend time with her practically every weekend? Why is this a surprise to him after six months?
Then came the blatant idiocy on his part (though normally he appears to be an intelligent person.) He texted another girl in our friend group. How poorly chosen. How poorly timed. How fishy.
The worst feeling in the world is telling someone you love, something that will hurt them.
This is a point of contingency between my mother and I. My mother always tells me I shouldn't be the bearer of bad news, that telling someone what you know will hurt them and causes you to become part of unnecessary drama. In fact, I feel guilty thinking about what my mother would say to Beatrice and I telling our best friend Kathy that her boyfriend is acting suspiciously.
"But you don't KNOW what Eustice was thinking when he texted your friend!" she would say.
I trust intuition above anything else. All the times where I have been most hurt and ended up crying on the floor, or on the bus, or in the car, or during a swim set, it was because I didn't trust my intuition, and trusted a man instead. Call me a man hater (I'm not, really) - but the feeling of betraying myself is that of the utmost stupidity... and I didn't want Kathy to feel that way.
How terrible would I feel if my friends knew for the longest time that my love interest was being sketchy and texting my friends behind my back? And they never told me??? I'd be petrified with humiliation. Thus, the decision was made and Beatrice and myself told Kathy about the wandering eye.
As I always do, I have come up with a theory about Eustice.
I think that he feels social pressure to be "single" (although he's kind of been seriously dating someone for six months, uh FAIL on the being single, Eustice.) Men in college are like sheep falling off a stupidity cliff. How else can keg stands be explained? Or streaking? Or drinking until they puke? Their caveman instincts are in full force until they graduate college and realize that those four or five or six years were meaningless without the people they loved the whole time. I know I'm being slightly unfair here, but you watch your best friend cry for an hour and then try to be fair towards the opposite gender.
I think he's waiting around for Carmen Electra to be reincarnated into someone college-age who would realistically date him. Which is unrealistic and shallow. Can she hold a conversation? NO.
I think he loves Kathy. But loving someone doesn't mean you're in love (as an ex boyfriend once said, oh so poetically) and it doesn't make you become wiser immediately. In fact, I think loving someone makes you act ten times more irrationally than you would act for a friend. That would explain Kathy putting up with six months of wishy-washy answers. And I will defend her to the end, it's sure as hell not her fault.
So what are we supposed to do about the male gender until they snap out of it?
Just put up with it?
Get our hearts broken habitually?
Become nuns?
Act as badly as they do?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Silence Breeding Discontent
I have a roommate. Her name is Prudence. You wouldn't know it from looking at my apartment, especially when her door is closed. Pretty much everything in the living room belongs to me, and the kitchen only has a few, very unhealthy food items belonging to my roommate and her boyfriend. When her door is open, all you see is an unmade bed, which looks exactly as it did three days ago... because she hasn't been home in three days.
What one would gather from this evidence is that my roommate barely makes her presence in our apartment. True, to an extent. The "extent" is her excessive amount of time spent with her boyfriend, only in her room. Part of me wonders if I ever gave off a vibe of unfriendliness at move-in. Or that everything I say is just insanely boring to her. If my single life is so far removed from her co-dependent relationship with her boyfriend that she cannot relate to me anymore.
The truth is, I have no idea what is wrong with our relationship.
The angry side of my psyche says she is obsessed with her boyfriend, he is obsessed with her, and they cannot divert into two separate lives anymore. Angry me also believes this means my roommate's and my friendship is dead. Cold. Done. Dead. No pulse. We barely talk anymore, besides "Hey" and the occasional update of week's events. I got a job Tuesday of last week and she didn't find out until... Friday. Because she wasn't home.
In my quest to be a reasonable, rationally-minded person, I have set up a list of what is her fault and what is my fault. And what's no one's fault.
Her fault: being gone constantly, or having her boyfriend over constantly - going into her room with her boyfriend and shutting the door, regardless of what they're doing, is an obvious "don't come in, don't talk to us" message. She is also putting me in a humiliating situation by never being without her boyfriend - if I want to hang out with her, I'll either have to agree to do what her boyfriend recommends we do, or ask her boyfriend to leave. Which would then make my roommate super angry with me.
My fault: not saying anything sooner. We are way past, "heyyyy why don't we just hang out this weekend?" I didn't know what to say then, and now I really don't know what to say. I should have nipped the constant boyfriend attachment thing in the bud while it was still harmless to me and I didn't have such a mental block.
No one's fault: That she might be the type of girl who always needs a boyfriend. I have another friend who seems to be that way; she truly handles it well and I still have confidence in her as my friend. My roommate may not know how to detach, or may not be capable of it. Also, her boyfriend's expectations are not my problem. If he wants her to cook for him for every meal, I suppose she will and I don't have a place saying anything (even though I think it's horribly medieval and makes her look like his slave/servant/bitch rather than
his life partner.)
Since high school, I have not lost many close female friends. One lives in Chicago, and we have a great relationship though she's so far away and on a totally different school schedule. Another goes to a rival school in Texas, but we communicate quite a bit and have never made the other feel ignored or humiliated. I lost one close female friend, but I owe that to her thinking (and outwardly saying) that her high school group of friends was not intelligent enough for her... I'll let that remain in an "agree to disagree" state, while I chew on my own desperately stupid thoughts.
I haven't felt so hurt in a long time. Mainly, because I thought growing up meant becoming one's own person and growing and finding one's path... but that was my upbringing and my definition of growing up. I suppose Prudence was brought up (and stereotypically, awfully, I hate saying this) in a traditional Hispanic household where being married, securing one's future, and raising a family are the zeniths of a woman's life. What if she feels she's achieving her greatest goal right now? What the hell do I say?
"I'm glad you and Randolph are so happy together, don't spend the night apart, and seem to be attached at the hip. BUT I THINK IT'S GOD AWFUL AT AGE 20.WHAT IF HE LEAVES YOU!?!"
Here I am, that person who will choose the silent treatment over honesty in cases where it's going to become word vomit and get altogether overly honest. Silently, I'm hoping she has doubts too. Silence is just making this gap between us bigger and bigger and bigger. Silence made her tell me a few weeks ago that she "prefer(s) that our (her and her boyfriend's) fruit be kept separate from yours." Who lives with ONE other person and won't share fruit? COME ON. (Consequently I've been eating bananas at every meal because she won't eat my nasty single-person bananas and they'll go bad otherwise.) Silence is reminding me that we haven't felt truly connected since her relationship became so serious with Randolph.
Silence reminds me that on most days, I have nothing good to say.
"If you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all."
What one would gather from this evidence is that my roommate barely makes her presence in our apartment. True, to an extent. The "extent" is her excessive amount of time spent with her boyfriend, only in her room. Part of me wonders if I ever gave off a vibe of unfriendliness at move-in. Or that everything I say is just insanely boring to her. If my single life is so far removed from her co-dependent relationship with her boyfriend that she cannot relate to me anymore.
The truth is, I have no idea what is wrong with our relationship.
The angry side of my psyche says she is obsessed with her boyfriend, he is obsessed with her, and they cannot divert into two separate lives anymore. Angry me also believes this means my roommate's and my friendship is dead. Cold. Done. Dead. No pulse. We barely talk anymore, besides "Hey" and the occasional update of week's events. I got a job Tuesday of last week and she didn't find out until... Friday. Because she wasn't home.
In my quest to be a reasonable, rationally-minded person, I have set up a list of what is her fault and what is my fault. And what's no one's fault.
Her fault: being gone constantly, or having her boyfriend over constantly - going into her room with her boyfriend and shutting the door, regardless of what they're doing, is an obvious "don't come in, don't talk to us" message. She is also putting me in a humiliating situation by never being without her boyfriend - if I want to hang out with her, I'll either have to agree to do what her boyfriend recommends we do, or ask her boyfriend to leave. Which would then make my roommate super angry with me.
My fault: not saying anything sooner. We are way past, "heyyyy why don't we just hang out this weekend?" I didn't know what to say then, and now I really don't know what to say. I should have nipped the constant boyfriend attachment thing in the bud while it was still harmless to me and I didn't have such a mental block.
No one's fault: That she might be the type of girl who always needs a boyfriend. I have another friend who seems to be that way; she truly handles it well and I still have confidence in her as my friend. My roommate may not know how to detach, or may not be capable of it. Also, her boyfriend's expectations are not my problem. If he wants her to cook for him for every meal, I suppose she will and I don't have a place saying anything (even though I think it's horribly medieval and makes her look like his slave/servant/bitch rather than
his life partner.)
Since high school, I have not lost many close female friends. One lives in Chicago, and we have a great relationship though she's so far away and on a totally different school schedule. Another goes to a rival school in Texas, but we communicate quite a bit and have never made the other feel ignored or humiliated. I lost one close female friend, but I owe that to her thinking (and outwardly saying) that her high school group of friends was not intelligent enough for her... I'll let that remain in an "agree to disagree" state, while I chew on my own desperately stupid thoughts.
I haven't felt so hurt in a long time. Mainly, because I thought growing up meant becoming one's own person and growing and finding one's path... but that was my upbringing and my definition of growing up. I suppose Prudence was brought up (and stereotypically, awfully, I hate saying this) in a traditional Hispanic household where being married, securing one's future, and raising a family are the zeniths of a woman's life. What if she feels she's achieving her greatest goal right now? What the hell do I say?
"I'm glad you and Randolph are so happy together, don't spend the night apart, and seem to be attached at the hip. BUT I THINK IT'S GOD AWFUL AT AGE 20.WHAT IF HE LEAVES YOU!?!"
Here I am, that person who will choose the silent treatment over honesty in cases where it's going to become word vomit and get altogether overly honest. Silently, I'm hoping she has doubts too. Silence is just making this gap between us bigger and bigger and bigger. Silence made her tell me a few weeks ago that she "prefer(s) that our (her and her boyfriend's) fruit be kept separate from yours." Who lives with ONE other person and won't share fruit? COME ON. (Consequently I've been eating bananas at every meal because she won't eat my nasty single-person bananas and they'll go bad otherwise.) Silence is reminding me that we haven't felt truly connected since her relationship became so serious with Randolph.
Silence reminds me that on most days, I have nothing good to say.
"If you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all."
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Even the Smartest Men Are Dumb
Breakthrough! (I think.)
After a threatening text, major miscommunication, a lot of waiting, and a lot of deep breaths, I think I finally have this figured out.
1. Jeb is busy. (my bad)
2. Jeb wants to stay "acquaintances" (after I told him I'd GTFO of his life if he wanted, HIS bad)
3. I am honest, he claims to be a champion of the truth, but I've realized he is not (HIS bad)
4. Initially, he just wanted a new girlfriend to get over his old girlfriend (HIS bad)
5. I told him I just like spending time with him and am not interested in a relationship as of yet, which is partially true (my bad)
6. I told him I don't want him to assume I'm trying to push him into boyfriend-land when I want to spend time with him. (good job, me)
I think that I do want a relationship. But I want a relationship with the right person at the right time. I have a feeling that this will stay casual enough to where we'll either realize that the whole shebang is a total failure, it actually works really well and we'll end up together, or I meet someone who isn't such a spazz when it comes to communication.
As pitiful as it seems to be thankful that he's finally being honest with me (shouldn't he have been honest the whole time?), I am. It doesn't hurt me that he was trying so hard to move on from his ex girlfriend by pursuing me. The best way I get over old boyfriends or guys who have disappointed me? UH, getting a new one. I wish he had realized earlier that I'm not one to be lied to or misled. I have a fantastic ability to distinguish the truth from sketchy from total bullshit. He has definitely lied to me, and I know that. I'm not stupid. But if had been honest with me from the beginning, (Yo, I really like you, but I don't think I'm ready for a relationship because I'm still not totally over my last girlfriend) this would all make sense.
Why do smart men avoid confrontation and honesty to the extent that they look like assholes?
I know that it is impossible for a guy to look like a teddy bear and be completely evil and rotten inside simultaneously. But I wouldn't have any doubt if he had been honest from the start. I have too much pride to lie. This sounds bizarre, but the shame and guilt I would feel from leading a guy on whom I didn't want to date would be worse for me than the self-esteem dip felt when I get rejected. At least I know, with every guy, that I have done the best I could. I was honest. I genuinely liked him. If he led me on, or he lied to me, he was the asshole. Not me. I guess I don't like being responsible for failure!
After a threatening text, major miscommunication, a lot of waiting, and a lot of deep breaths, I think I finally have this figured out.
1. Jeb is busy. (my bad)
2. Jeb wants to stay "acquaintances" (after I told him I'd GTFO of his life if he wanted, HIS bad)
3. I am honest, he claims to be a champion of the truth, but I've realized he is not (HIS bad)
4. Initially, he just wanted a new girlfriend to get over his old girlfriend (HIS bad)
5. I told him I just like spending time with him and am not interested in a relationship as of yet, which is partially true (my bad)
6. I told him I don't want him to assume I'm trying to push him into boyfriend-land when I want to spend time with him. (good job, me)
I think that I do want a relationship. But I want a relationship with the right person at the right time. I have a feeling that this will stay casual enough to where we'll either realize that the whole shebang is a total failure, it actually works really well and we'll end up together, or I meet someone who isn't such a spazz when it comes to communication.
As pitiful as it seems to be thankful that he's finally being honest with me (shouldn't he have been honest the whole time?), I am. It doesn't hurt me that he was trying so hard to move on from his ex girlfriend by pursuing me. The best way I get over old boyfriends or guys who have disappointed me? UH, getting a new one. I wish he had realized earlier that I'm not one to be lied to or misled. I have a fantastic ability to distinguish the truth from sketchy from total bullshit. He has definitely lied to me, and I know that. I'm not stupid. But if had been honest with me from the beginning, (Yo, I really like you, but I don't think I'm ready for a relationship because I'm still not totally over my last girlfriend) this would all make sense.
Why do smart men avoid confrontation and honesty to the extent that they look like assholes?
I know that it is impossible for a guy to look like a teddy bear and be completely evil and rotten inside simultaneously. But I wouldn't have any doubt if he had been honest from the start. I have too much pride to lie. This sounds bizarre, but the shame and guilt I would feel from leading a guy on whom I didn't want to date would be worse for me than the self-esteem dip felt when I get rejected. At least I know, with every guy, that I have done the best I could. I was honest. I genuinely liked him. If he led me on, or he lied to me, he was the asshole. Not me. I guess I don't like being responsible for failure!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
My Jaunt with Jebediah
Jebediah. Unnaturally smart. One of those guys who is cold as ice texting, but sweet in person. I shouldn't like him, I'll say that from the beginning. But I love his voice, and the way he giggles at the things I say whilst being particularly obnoxious. He's a big guy. Not fat, just... I would choose him for my dodgeball team. He is easygoing, and let me choose what I wanted to do for our first couple dates (at least I think they were dates?). He's patient with me when I go off on my tangents about art, music, human nature, etc and didn't kiss me until the third night we saw each other even though I know he is by no means a prude.
All is great in paradise, no?
Well of course, after 3 seemingly awesome dates and an awesome kiss, he didn't text me until two weeks later. And told his friends I had a huge crush on him. And took his ex(who is one of my friends) to some cocktail shindig for his fraternity. I didn't text him out of anger/humiliation/confusion.
Strike.
Strike.
You're out?
Thursday night (so, a week ago) he texted me, "Heyyy what are you up to?" Like I was supposed to drop everything (in that case, nothing, with a side of Facebook stalking) and just go hang out with him? Pretend he hadn't talked about "us" to other people - a personal pet peeve of mine? Chosen someone from his past over someone of his present and possibly future? I was furious, considered never talking to him again, but relented and texted him back a very curt reply that I was about to fall asleep and he should too.
The smarter version of myself would have deleted his number.
Saturday night rolled around, I had baked a ton of cookies I was seriously proud of ("they are like biting into a cloud" - my friend's testimony), I had downed some beers during a drinking game with my guy friends, and was watching an adorable flirtship play out between two of my friends. Thus, the powers of desperation combined and I texted him to hang out. At around 10:30pm, well past the innocence interval where you can't expect a hookup. He responded immediately (guilt? lust? missing me?) and met me by my apartment.
We talked for about an hour - about school, Spanish, relationships, the concert he had gone to. May I mention we would've known these things if he hadn't been an imbecile and texted me sooner? I was still pretty tipsy at this point, and when I'm tipsy, I'm sassy. I had previously deemed him a jerk, and found every opportunity where he seemed remotely pretentious to make fun of him, to which he giggled and made me fall for him all over again. In person, he was still sweet, and even though there were for sure some questionable intentions on my part, he took about 80 years to grab my hand. Then another 80 to kiss me, finally. (It always cracks me up when a guy pretty much gives my hand a hand job because he's afraid to give anything else a hand job.)
For various reasons, Jebediah didn't seal the deal that night. Not my fault. I'll just say that. As we were getting dressed and heading towards the door, he told me he'd be busy the next couple days.
"So, does that mean you won't text me for another week?"-still sassy.
"I promise I'm not an asshole."
So, should I believe him? It is now Thursday, and he still hasn't texted me or called me. However, I have realized he should be terrified of me. I don't know what made me wake up with so much confidence, but I did. I am smart, but also clever. I can keep up with his friends, and his friends like me. I would never hurt him, and that's something I feel is pretty obvious upon first meeting me. Even if he truly hurts me. I am positive, I like to try new things and travel. I'm pretty, and he knows it. I make decisions on my own and will never be wishy-washy.
Truly, this guy doesn't deserve me. I know this, yet I still am waiting for him. I'm still contemplating texting him. I've forgiven him for his missteps. Part of me doesn't even want to.
Where is the line between hope and insanity?
All is great in paradise, no?
Well of course, after 3 seemingly awesome dates and an awesome kiss, he didn't text me until two weeks later. And told his friends I had a huge crush on him. And took his ex(who is one of my friends) to some cocktail shindig for his fraternity. I didn't text him out of anger/humiliation/confusion.
Strike.
Strike.
You're out?
Thursday night (so, a week ago) he texted me, "Heyyy what are you up to?" Like I was supposed to drop everything (in that case, nothing, with a side of Facebook stalking) and just go hang out with him? Pretend he hadn't talked about "us" to other people - a personal pet peeve of mine? Chosen someone from his past over someone of his present and possibly future? I was furious, considered never talking to him again, but relented and texted him back a very curt reply that I was about to fall asleep and he should too.
The smarter version of myself would have deleted his number.
Saturday night rolled around, I had baked a ton of cookies I was seriously proud of ("they are like biting into a cloud" - my friend's testimony), I had downed some beers during a drinking game with my guy friends, and was watching an adorable flirtship play out between two of my friends. Thus, the powers of desperation combined and I texted him to hang out. At around 10:30pm, well past the innocence interval where you can't expect a hookup. He responded immediately (guilt? lust? missing me?) and met me by my apartment.
We talked for about an hour - about school, Spanish, relationships, the concert he had gone to. May I mention we would've known these things if he hadn't been an imbecile and texted me sooner? I was still pretty tipsy at this point, and when I'm tipsy, I'm sassy. I had previously deemed him a jerk, and found every opportunity where he seemed remotely pretentious to make fun of him, to which he giggled and made me fall for him all over again. In person, he was still sweet, and even though there were for sure some questionable intentions on my part, he took about 80 years to grab my hand. Then another 80 to kiss me, finally. (It always cracks me up when a guy pretty much gives my hand a hand job because he's afraid to give anything else a hand job.)
For various reasons, Jebediah didn't seal the deal that night. Not my fault. I'll just say that. As we were getting dressed and heading towards the door, he told me he'd be busy the next couple days.
"So, does that mean you won't text me for another week?"-still sassy.
"I promise I'm not an asshole."
So, should I believe him? It is now Thursday, and he still hasn't texted me or called me. However, I have realized he should be terrified of me. I don't know what made me wake up with so much confidence, but I did. I am smart, but also clever. I can keep up with his friends, and his friends like me. I would never hurt him, and that's something I feel is pretty obvious upon first meeting me. Even if he truly hurts me. I am positive, I like to try new things and travel. I'm pretty, and he knows it. I make decisions on my own and will never be wishy-washy.
Truly, this guy doesn't deserve me. I know this, yet I still am waiting for him. I'm still contemplating texting him. I've forgiven him for his missteps. Part of me doesn't even want to.
Where is the line between hope and insanity?
So here I am, creating my first blog post. Hopefully I'll be a more faithful guardian of this than of my Tumblr, which generally consists of a post every two weeks and endless stalking of fascinatingly messed up people from my hometown. I think I'll aim for a post... twice a week? I'm trying to make clearly set, attainable goals here.
Sex and the City is one of my favorite TV shows, partly because it addresses dating and sexuality in a fresh way (still fresh, in comparison to the wildly out of hand teen shows or sickeningly wholesome Disney channel shows.) It addresses the conundrum of growing older and still trying to be relevant, how marriage is viewed by both genders, and the power of female friendship (or female competition in some cases.)
I know that there are flaws in the attitudes of the Sex and the City gals. In reality, Samantha would probably have a range of STDs. Carrie wouldn't live in such an amazing apartment. No one (hopefully) is so naive as Charlotte. And Miranda's job wouldn't truly allow her the summer off to go vacation in the Hamptons with her best friends.
I'm not necessarily going to write only about Sex and the City, nor my own life, nor just my friends. I aim for a balance of interesting stories, "what the fuck" moments, and perhaps some therapeutic insight (writing is how I learn best from my mistakes and try to prevent myself from making new ones... or the same ones.) I'm going to give everyone in my stories the most horrific names in order to protect their identities. You try and guess who Edna is. Or Martha. See? You picture an old woman in pearls, no 20 year old ladies or gents.
I call myself a cynic because cynicism is my overriding emotion before, during, and after every text, phone call, date, and relationship. Really, I have let myself go totally overboard with the cynicism thing. A professor once told me,
"Cynicism is setting yourself up for having no experiences at all. Skepticism is healthy and a key to being a discerning human being."
Call me an overzealous student. Or constantly disappointed. Just don't call me a bitch - my last intention is to hurt any guy, or for any of my friends to hurt anyone. Or for my truth to become a razorblade.
Anyways, enough with the introductory post. You'll be seeing analyses of my life and the characters in my life very soon. :)
Sex and the City is one of my favorite TV shows, partly because it addresses dating and sexuality in a fresh way (still fresh, in comparison to the wildly out of hand teen shows or sickeningly wholesome Disney channel shows.) It addresses the conundrum of growing older and still trying to be relevant, how marriage is viewed by both genders, and the power of female friendship (or female competition in some cases.)
I know that there are flaws in the attitudes of the Sex and the City gals. In reality, Samantha would probably have a range of STDs. Carrie wouldn't live in such an amazing apartment. No one (hopefully) is so naive as Charlotte. And Miranda's job wouldn't truly allow her the summer off to go vacation in the Hamptons with her best friends.
I'm not necessarily going to write only about Sex and the City, nor my own life, nor just my friends. I aim for a balance of interesting stories, "what the fuck" moments, and perhaps some therapeutic insight (writing is how I learn best from my mistakes and try to prevent myself from making new ones... or the same ones.) I'm going to give everyone in my stories the most horrific names in order to protect their identities. You try and guess who Edna is. Or Martha. See? You picture an old woman in pearls, no 20 year old ladies or gents.
I call myself a cynic because cynicism is my overriding emotion before, during, and after every text, phone call, date, and relationship. Really, I have let myself go totally overboard with the cynicism thing. A professor once told me,
"Cynicism is setting yourself up for having no experiences at all. Skepticism is healthy and a key to being a discerning human being."
Call me an overzealous student. Or constantly disappointed. Just don't call me a bitch - my last intention is to hurt any guy, or for any of my friends to hurt anyone. Or for my truth to become a razorblade.
Anyways, enough with the introductory post. You'll be seeing analyses of my life and the characters in my life very soon. :)
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